


A Darker World

by HomunculusTrashParty



Series: Reconditioning / A Darker World [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Brainwashing, Dystopia, F/M, POV Second Person, Psychological Horror, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/pseuds/HomunculusTrashParty
Summary: You are MA-3425, a stormtrooper beginning a new career on theFinalizer, Kylo Ren's personal Star Destroyer. You dream of a glorious destiny, a grand opportunity to serve the First Order, and after all of your hard work, your new assignment might be everything you've hoped for.So why is everyone acting so strangely?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've opted not to use archive warnings to avoid spoilers. Consider yourself warned.

You're ready for your first day of work at your new assignment. It was such a privilege to be selected for a position on the _Finalizer_. It's unusual to graduate basic training at your advanced age, but you passed with flying colors. The ceremony was a whirlwind of excitement, and while you don't exactly remember every detail, you're sure that you impressed your superiors. After all, those who don't make the cut are given the least pleasant positions. You shudder at the thought of working in sanitation.

Fortunately, you've been awarded a position a few ranks below Kylo Ren's personal assistant. He spoke glowingly of Ren, assuring you that you would enjoy the work. The first time Ren had praised him, he explained, had filled him with purpose. _“You see, Ren likes so few people. Learning how to best serve him has been the greatest honor of my life.”_

You feel a tingle in your chest. It must indeed be an honor. 

The work is not nearly as exciting as Ren's assistant had claimed, as it turns out, as you are called to a remote location by an officer only barely concealing his fear. You arrive to see a wrecked computer terminal and a sparking, damaged droid making the most pathetic sounds. You wish you had a blaster to put it out of its misery.

The officer points to a nearby wall. “Fire extinguisher's over there,” he says quickly, before all but bolting.

You go to get it, then pull the pin, standing back and surveying the mess in front of you. Huge black slashes have been cut through the computer terminal, with electrical pulses still twitching, soon to be covered in the sleet and fog of the fire extinguisher. You spray it thoroughly, then turn to the sad droid struggling to move across the floor, warbling in binary. Looking away, you spray it, and it falls silent.

Having contained the situation, you mark it off with stanchions and tape and go to retrieve a rolling cart and nonconductive gloves. Shaking foam off of the droid, you consider. Should it be scrapped for parts, or simply thrown away? Can any part of it be salvaged? You put it on the cart, deciding to take it downstairs and ask the electronics crew to examine it.

With a rag, you clear the particulate from the computer terminal. It appears to be completely destroyed. You pull your comlink from your belt and call the computer technicians. One instructs you to clean up any fallen scrap metal to recycle, and to leave the rest for them to take care of.

You wheel your cart of debris, dropping the metal into a chute and continuing down to hand over the electrical parts. It dawns on you now that the job you've been given is only one step up from sanitation.

You reach the electronics repair level, and a group of particularly brawny servicemembers greet you. “Hey,” one says, bald and stout—within regulation, of course—and you think to yourself that if he were in another world, he'd have grown a beard. Such personal expressions, however, are expressly forbidden. “You're Ren's new cleaning crew.”

“I… I suppose, yes, sir,” you reply, unsure how to react.

“Having fun yet? He destroys a _lot_ of equipment. Keeps us busy.” He gratefully accepts your cart. “He must have a reason, though. Maybe life at his level is stressful.”

You appreciate this man's apparent compassion and forgiveness of your superior. “Yes, sir. It must be. I haven't seen him yet, though. I've only just gotten here.”

He smirked. “You will. Be prepared, though. He's terrifying. You don't want to be the object of his bad temper.”

“I'll keep that in mind, sir,” you say, uneasily, and having completed your task, you head back upstairs.

Your new workstation is in a special wing of the _Finalizer_ , relatively cut off from the rest. On the surface, it appears to be any other office, pristine and tidy, though the décor is a little ominous. Ren must really like dark colors, you muse. Even the desktops are polished and black. You find the one with your number on it and sit down. There's a piece of paper on the desk outlining your duties, and your face falls at how many of them are menial physical labor. You've been selected for laundry services? You thought for sure your marks were higher than that. 

Fortunately, that is only one item on the list of responsibilities. Many of them, you notice, are a little more high-level—you are only three ranks below an officer who serves as Ren's liaison to his elite forces team, whatever that means. Surely that work is important.

You see that you have no messages at your workstation and determine that it's time to head to the laundry facility. It's somewhat smaller than you expected, but you remember that you are not performing services for the entirety of the _Finalizer_ , just Ren and his cohort.

You take some time to read the laundry training manual cover to cover, determined to impress your new superiors with hard work, then head to the facility. There are several chutes and rolling baskets beneath them large enough to hide multiple people in the event of an intruder. You tip one of the baskets on its side—it's nearly as tall as you are—and a pile of sweaty, blood-soaked clothes tumbles out. Disgusted, you pause to grab the apron and gloves you saw on the table as you came in. Clearly they're needed.

You sort the laundry by fabric and color—though nearly everything is black—and toss them into a huge basin, doing what you can to remove some of the crusted-on blood before you load them into the washing machines. You've read in your training manual that the machines used in this particular facility are capable of washing and disinfecting at once. Lucky, you reason, or the First Order would run out of clothing very quickly, and people would have to go naked. You squirm with discomfort at the image.

As the first load finishes up, you're ready to load the second into an adjacent machine. When the first load is finished drying, you begin to sort. There are some more typical items—uniform jackets, slacks, undershirts, etc—and then there are some unusual ones, such as a thick, full-body suit of armor that you struggle mightily to lug out of the washing machine and into the dryer. It is fabric, however—perhaps there is a metal or protective layer you're unaware of, but in that case, how would it be washable? 

Suddenly growing tense, you hope that you haven't destroyed somebody's armor on your first day. You decide to machine dry it despite your anxiety, and set to folding the rest of the dry clothes according to the directions posted on the wall. Once you've folded them, you're instructed to wrap them in plastic and return them to their assigned units.

You go to pull the armor out of the dryer, and cringe. One of the edges has gotten stuck to the dryer vent. Fretting, you tug on it gently, and when that doesn't work, you pull harder, hearing a sudden tear. _Oh, no._ You take it over to one of the long, wide tables for folding, and place it down gingerly, arranging the sides neatly to examine the damage. There's a little tear on the bottom, and you notice that it appears to be unpleasantly bunched up in some areas, but hopefully it's okay. It strikes you as familiar, laid out like that, but you can't place where you've seen it before.

Everything gets sorted, and you wish you had music or some kind of background noise that wasn't so repetitive. You look at the clock and grimace, wondering when you'll be able to do everything else. You're left with the armor and a pile of clothes that don't match the others, and you're unsure what to do with them.

You call your superior officer, who tells you that the unique pieces that don't fit regulation are to go to a location you don't have clearance to enter.

After you distribute the other textiles, you approach the checkpoint, your little cart full of clean clothes: black undershirts, fitted pants, suspenders, socks, underwear, that strange suit of armor, and some even stranger pieces you're unfamiliar with.

“Laundry services, sir,” you call out, and someone you don't recognize appears.

“I'll take them,” she offers. “Are you new here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welcome. I do hope this line of work suits you. I need to tell you that these items must be treated as well as possible. They are for a high-ranking officer who is… particular.” She looks a little wary. 

“Understood, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

You return to the laundry facility, tidy it up, and then go back to your desk.

Later that day, you're eating dinner, scoping out a good place to sit. While there is a wide range of ages represented among this group—though you notice a distinct lack of junior members—you feel a bit old.

You sit alone, taking a bite of your meat, surprised at how delicious it is. For some reason, you had expected bland. Then you're joined by a servicemember closer to your age.

“Hi,” she says excitedly. “I'm JA-2917. Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Go ahead,” you reply pleasantly. “I'm MA-3425.”

“MA? So you're from Starkiller too,” she reasons as she sits.

You're unsure what she means. “No, I'm here.”

“But your number… Never mind,” she immediately trails off. “How are you? Do you like it here?”

You're puzzled by her remark. However, the numbering conventions must not be as clearly defined as JA-2917 thinks. “I'm good. Yes, I like it here. To be honest, at my age, I'm happy to have found any work at all.”

“Well, I hope it goes well. What's your assignment?”

“Assistance to Kylo Ren. I'm part of a cohort of servicemembers who act as his staffers.” You pause. “I'm not entirely sure what it entails yet, though.”

Her lips set in a thin line. “I see.” You sit in silence, wondering if she'll continue. She doesn't, and the two of you eat quietly, with a few remarks here and there.

When she leaves with a hurried goodbye, you feel uneasy. Perhaps she doesn't like Ren. Why would she not like Ren? He attended your graduation ceremony personally, didn't he? Surely he wouldn't have gone to the trouble if he weren't supportive of his staff. 

Your quarters are nicer than you expected—for your rank, you expected to be in a shared dormitory, but you have your own room. Clearly Ren isn't the terror everyone claims, or else why would he award a member of his personal staff a room to call her own?

Feeling upbeat, you put down your small bag and see a new blanket, sheets and a fresh uniform waiting for you. You go over your training manual once again and then sleep, dreamlessly.

 

You wake up in good spirits, a spring in your step and the knowledge that you are most certainly in the right job. Even if you are doing laundry, you have such a great living space.

You arrive at work and notice a memo on your desk. You pick it up, but before you can read it, your superior officer arrives.

“It's from our master. He wishes to see you immediately.”

You stop yourself from frowning, and decide to read the memo later. He tells you where to go, but it's a sector you have no clearance to enter. He gives you a signed note that should get you in. You salute and head over there.

As you arrive, you notice that it's the same sector to which you delivered the laundry. Suddenly anxious, you hope nothing has gone wrong. It was only your first day—surely you'll be forgiven?

The guard lets you through the checkpoint, and you're shown to a small room that from the outside looks to be someone's office. You timidly step inside, and exhale when you see that the room is empty. Where is your mysterious host?

You feel a presence behind you, and you shiver as though there were an open window allowing in the chill of space. The door shuts with a hiss. You're afraid to move, or turn around.

“Take a seat, MA-3425.” The voice is smooth and even and utterly devoid of friendliness or cordiality.

“Yes, sir.” You don't turn around to look at him, and instead follow his order. Your host crosses to the other side of the room and sits down at the table. You take in a breath as you see that it is Kylo Ren himself. Has he noticed you already? Your chest swells with pride. 

“Whom do you serve?” 

“You, my lord,” you reply automatically.

Ren pauses, and you suddenly grow uncomfortable. Seconds tick by. “You're the new assistant.”

Unfortunately, his tone is… unwelcoming. Your stomach clenches, and you feel a sense of foreboding. “Yes, my lord.”

“Why is it that you are unable to follow directions?” he asks, his voice deadly low.

Your eyes widen, and your hands fidget in your lap. “M-my lord—”

“Did you not receive a suit of padded armor in the laundry?”

“I… yes, my lord, I did.” You feel your heart pounding in panic, as you suddenly lose your breath. Did you ruin it? Does that armor belong to Ren himself?

“Yes, it does belong to me,” he answers, and you feel a jolt of anxiety at his presence in your mind. “And the next time you destroy it, there will be consequences.”

You shrink back in your chair. “My lord… if I may—”

“What?”

“H-How shall I dry it?”

“Take it to sector 47. Perhaps next time I'll make you sew me a new one. Though our droids are no doubt more intelligent than you.” He rises, and you leap to your feet.

“My lord… I'm so sorry,” you plead, head bowed in submission.

It seems to mollify him, and as he leaves, he mutters, “Then don't do it again.”

The door opens and Ren stalks out, and you feel lower than ever. Tears start at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them go down. It's only your second day, and you've already failed him. You're afraid—what does he mean by consequences? You vow to yourself to do better.

That night, you lie awake on your back, eyes open. You think of Ren, and remember the size of the office you work in. Rows and rows of workstations go on seemingly forever. What he does for the First Order must be important and complex. You rack your brain in an attempt at imagining it. Someone said he has a team of elite warriors, and you've heard that he has an ancient weapon, a beam of light that can cut through anything. Does he simply carry out the will of the First Order? Is he himself the sole leader of the First Order? No, you reason—you've heard of a General Hux in basic training. So who is your commanding officer? It must be Ren. Even sitting across from you, he cut an imposing figure.

The next time you meet him, you decide, it will be for him to deliver praise. Maybe your superior officer is right—would it fulfill your destiny to serve him best?

You fall asleep. You're in a desert, dressed in stormtrooper armor despite being assigned to support staff. The sun is beating down on you, and you're sweltering, thirsty, and exhausted. You and your company have been sent here to apprehend a defector, and have been ordered to detain him. You've been told to set your weapons to stun, and under no circumstances are you to kill him.

You aren't altogether certain who it is you're looking for. Who would do such a thing? Didn't he understand that to be chosen at birth for a career with the First Order was an honor second to none? Maybe there's some way of reforming him. Maybe that's why you're not allowed to fire on him. There is hope. He can change.

Then you see him. He's standing at a distance, in armor he's no doubt stolen from the First Order. It's covered in sand, scuffed, cracked. You can't see his face, and there's no one else around, but you're certain it's him.

You check your weapon. It's set to stun. You level it at the traitor, and pull the trigger. He goes down, and you want to investigate, to see if you recognize him, but you feel a firm hand on your shoulder, holding you back.

You wake up, confused, wondering what the significance of such a dream could be. You decide to dwell on it later, and fall asleep again.

In the morning, you feel more prepared for work. You head to your desk, glancing over your list of duties and making a mental timeline. If you start early, you can be done with the laundry quickly enough to get ahead. You're determined to do better this time.

But right as you get there, the device at your hip beeps. You snap to attention. “MA-3425,” you answer it.

“Code black. 14th level of Sector 12. Watch yourself, he's still in the area.”

You swallow hard. Is there an insurgent in the midst? You cautiously reply “understood” and leave the laundry for another time; you can resume it once you've finished dealing with… whatever “code black” is referring to. You knew you should have read that memo on your desk the previous day.

You focus on deep breathing as the elevator rises to the 14th level. When you arrive, you cautiously step forward, then remind yourself that you have a job to do, and try to move with confidence. You scope out the area as you walk, noting the deserted hallways and relative silence, until you hear a clash and a whirring noise from ahead and to your left, around a corner. You creep up to it, keeping your body shielded behind the durasteel wall as you tentatively glance around the corner.

You see the glow of a red beam of light, wondering if it's a blaster bolt coming from an insurgent and you've been unlucky enough to blink at precisely the wrong moment. You shut your eyes instinctively, hiding behind the corner again; and when enough time has elapsed for you to be certain there is no gunman, you look again.

A figure dressed all in black is standing in front of a charred cleaning droid, panting, wheezing. Then you see the red beam again, sparks flying from its crackling light, and realize with sudden discomfort that the figure is Kylo Ren. _“He destroys a_ lot _of equipment,”_ they'd said. _“Keeps us busy.”_

You hide around the corner again, hoping that he didn't notice you. So that's what “code black” refers to—you make a mental note in your head.

You take in the sight of Ren standing there, watching his shoulders heave, the slightest growl distorted and strange. You're afraid; what if he turns around to tear you in half? But then, why would he do such a thing? You scold yourself internally for thinking such slanderous things about your master.

You stare at him as though he's a wild animal, and then he begins to turn around. You duck behind the corner again but it's too late—he's seen you, and you freeze.

It takes you a second to realize that it wasn't your choice to freeze; you've been immobilized. You can still breathe, and your eyes can move, but you're otherwise locked in place.

“So it's you again,” you hear, and your eyes look to your right—he's advancing on you, one step at a time, slowly. His breathing appears to have slowed, but his weapon is still ignited.

“You should know better than to pursue me,” he continues, with menace. “Shouldn't you?”

You find you can turn your head again, but that's all you can do. You find your breath, but your voice still trembles. “Lord Ren—I'm so sorry—please don't hurt me,” you beg.

“Answer my question,” he barks.

“Yes, I know better, my lord,” you babble. 

“That's right, you do. You're the new one, whose intelligence I still question.” The saber spins in his right hand, and your eyes train to it, watching the sparks fly from the beam of red light. One touches one of the flaps of his tunic and sets a small section ablaze, then puts itself out. So that's what the armor is for, you realize. His legendary weapon is so powerful that it can harm even its user.

“I have complete mastery of it,” he snaps, and you jolt with fear; you'd forgotten he can read your mind. “Would you like to see?”

“No, my lord,” you squeak, eyes squeezing shut as though they can protect you.

He ignores your reply and chooses instead to hack at the wall near you, the sparks and heat dangerously close to you. You scream. You're forced to your knees.

A droid suddenly staggers past both of you, with the intent of repairing the slash holes in the wall.

“You'd better run, girl,” he growls, and you fall forward as he releases you. You scramble to your feet, and smack into the droid as it crosses in front of you. You keep running, not looking back, and you hear high-pitched screeches and crashes as the droid behind you is destroyed. You smell machine lubricant and scorched steel, and you can't clear the area fast enough.

Your first instinct is to return to the laundry room—it's far enough away that he won't chase you, and he can't punish you for avoiding duties. You hide in a corner between one of the machines and the wall, curling up and crying softly. You've failed utterly—Ren hates you. First you destroy his armor, then you approach him while he's still angry. How can you hope to prove your worth when you keep messing things up?

After twenty minutes of hugging your knees and silently begging him to forgive you, you rise slowly, determined to do better.

As if on cue, a pile of clothes drops from one of the chutes, and you're almost certain they're Ren's. A quick investigation and you're correct. You go to sort them, and feel your cheeks go hot as you find he's included every garment he was wearing. Suddenly you realize that the clothes you washed earlier belonged to him—underwear and all. You're scandalized, but you don't have the luxury of modesty, so you put on your gloves and apron and try to be grateful that at least this time the items aren't caked in blood, merely machine lubricant and masculine sweat. Are there face masks here? You decide to look later.

You wash and dry his clothes, all except for the armor, and take them back to where they belong.

You begin to wonder why they gave you a desk, as you sit down at it. So far all you've done is laundry. You check your messages, and are surprised to see that this time there are a few.

The first is a basic “welcome to your new position” message, which you discard. The next is a save-the-date for a mandatory department-wide safety training, which as it turns out is tomorrow.

The next is a message from your superior officer, with an uneasy title: “Code Alert Levels: A New System Designed For Your Safety.” You open the message.

_Greetings, everyone! It has come to my attention that with the addition of new staff members, not everyone is aware of the new Code Alert system. While we will be going over it in depth tomorrow at our monthly safety training, I'd like to describe it in brief._

_To better serve Kylo Ren and the First Order, and to protect our servicemembers on the job, we have instituted a color code denoting the threat safety level of an area about to be blocked off for repair. Kylo Ren is a fierce warrior with inestimable power at his disposal. You may have seen this power in action. While it is perhaps the most important asset that the First Order has to offer its new galactic order, it can also create a hazardous work environment. To mitigate these hazards and to continue providing Ren with the services he needs and deserves, we ask that you take note of the following colors._

_Code Green is the baseline and signifies that there are no known threats. It is to be assumed that unless another color level is in effect, it is Code Green at all times._

_Code Blue indicates that there could be minor physical occupational hazards present in the area, such as fallen objects, broken glass, or live electrical wires. The sector will not lock down, but proceed with caution._

_Code Yellow indicates that there may be significant physical or mental occupational hazards present. These hazards include but are not limited to collapsing walls, fires, or errant, insubordinate droids responding to negative stimuli. Mental hazards include but are not limited to negative, hostile or destructive emotions (your own or someone else's), feelings of despair or anguish, or sudden outbursts of anger. Caution yourselves against sudden drops in body temperature._

_Code Red indicates that an act of conflict is presumed to be taking place or has just transpired. We ask that during a Code Red, please remove yourself from the area immediately. If you are not in the vicinity, refrain from entering it, even if it requires neglecting duties. You will never be reprimanded for obeying a Code Alert. Please beware all of the physical and mental hazards of Codes Blue and Yellow, and watch for any additional hazards as they occur. If you become trapped in the area, radio for help with your location and a description of all hazards you have thus encountered._

_Code Black indicates that an act of conflict is actively taking place, that it is known to be ongoing, that Kylo Ren is suffering from one of his episodes and that all bystanders in the area are in immediate danger. If you are in the area, evacuate immediately; do not enter the area for any reason, including to warn others of the Code Alert._

_If you cannot evacuate due to physical hazards such as fire or mental hazards such as feelings of despondency, sudden and acute hypothermia, immobilization or exceptional pain, shelter-in-place and radio when you are able to with your location. In situations such as this, do your best not to antagonize Ren, both for your safety and his. If you are in his path, he could do you physical and/or psychological harm. After the Code Black has reduced to Code Red, we can begin an extraction to remove you from the area._

_This may sound serious, but with your cooperation we can minimize the threats to life and property by taking the right precautions. In addition to this, we have a number of resources available to servicemembers affected, such as medical attention, bacta submersion therapy, preparedness trainings and psychotherapy._

_One final word: Kylo Ren possesses an extraordinary talent in the Force, and we know of no one who can match his prowess. However, this power is often accompanied by side effects, and as Ren's support staff, we must remain both vigilant and compassionate. With our hard work and open minds and hearts, we can serve him well and serve his interests and those of the First Order. Remember that attacks on your person are not targeted at you, but are the result of inadequate service on the part of the department as a whole. We ask that anyone who is involved file a report so that we can learn from our mistakes._

_Once again, thank you for your service, and I will see all of you at tomorrow's training._

You close the message, shaking, and decide you'll file your report tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Your evening is uneventful, and as you wake up the next morning, ready to start your day, you remember your failure and grimace. What can you do to make it up to Ren? Maybe you can ask at the training.

After fueling up with caf and breakfast, you head over to the training, which is scheduled to be hours long. You've never been any good at sitting down for long periods without falling asleep, but if yesterday's department-wide message is any indication of the content of today's training, you expect you'll be riveted.

You find a desk in the back away from the others and sit down. To your delight, there's a caf machine in the back. You glance down at the desktop, upon which there is an intimidating clear plastic folder full of paperwork. Deciding to get started, you open it. It contains a few informational pages, copies of what looks to be today's slideshow, a list of comm frequencies for emergencies and communications, and a small packet titled “Courage and Duty: Working Well with Gifted Comrades.” You open it up; it's a quick primer on the Force, cobbled together from eyewitness accounts and First Order archive materials. You begin to cheer up. Will you be learning about the mysterious Force today?

Your classmates arrive in twos and threes, and you recognize JA-2917 among them. You wave, and she waves back, approaching you and sitting at the desk next to yours.

“Have you been to one of these before?” you ask, looking over at her as you put your folder back together.

“Yes, but they aren't usually this in-depth,” she replies, wincing as she reviews her own folder. “It must be important.”

You suddenly realize something. “I think I might be to blame,” you whisper.

“What? Why?” JA-2917 looks over at you.

“Because I heard of a Code Black and didn't know what it meant, and I went into the sector, and Ren found me,” you ramble, chest heaving nervously.

You expect her to ridicule or scold you, but instead, her expression softens. “I'm sorry. Don't worry, you won't be reprimanded. We all know how scary Ren can be. They probably do know what happened, which is why we're at this training today. To prevent future issues.” You nod, uneasily.

“I wonder what makes him that way,” JA-2917 continues softly. “Is it the Force? Is it just who he is?”

“I wish I knew,” you add sadly. “He hates me. I keep failing him.” There are tears at the corners of your eyes.

JA-2197 looks at you suddenly, and you look back. Her face is unreadable. “He's not easy to please. Just keep your head down and do the right thing and he'll leave you alone.”

Your heart twists. That's not good enough. Avoiding punishment is not enough. You have to impress him—your life, your purpose are in his capable hands.

But none of these convictions reach your lips, so you stay silent and merely nod.

“Welcome, everyone,” a male voice announces with enthusiasm, and you both end your conversation and look up. He's standing in the front of the room, next to a projected holographic image that's been flattened to two dimensions against a white backdrop. You recognize it as the first page in your folder. He glances around the room, head nodding, and then clasps his hands in front of him. “This is our quarterly department safety training. We've added some new content, so please pay attention.” He eyes a few people until the room goes deathly silent.

“I am ES-2213. As Kylo Ren's chief personal assistant and liaison to his elite forces unit, I take our service objectives very seriously. You have all been hand picked for this team, and you should be proud. It is not an easy line of work, but it is one of the most important functions of the First Order.

“I'd like to open with a brief overview of the First Order leadership hierarchy, and from there we can explore our roles within it. The First Order is led by General Armitage Hux and Commander Kylo Ren. Below them, Captain Phasma leads the First Order military operations. There's a great deal of combat-focused divisions and departments”–he quickly flips through a number of slides—“but our chief concern is with Ren and his objectives.

“As some of you may know, Ren is a warrior knight who has studied the ancient powers of the Force. The Force is a mythical energy field that surrounds and flows through all life in the galaxy. However, there are precious few who are sensitive to it, and even less who have talent and training. Among that group, Ren alone has achieved mastery of the Force.

“Ren's skill set includes the following,” he continues, and you find yourself fascinated. Far from the boring lecture you anticipated, this biography of Ren is deeply engaging. You lean on one palm, elbow perpendicular to your desk.

“Ren can use the Force to stop a blaster bolt in midair, and can deflect it back at its shooter.” He beams proudly. “For those of you who excelled at your physics examinations, you understand what a tremendous feat this is.”

Your physics marks were above average, and you feel a shiver flow down your back and across your arms and legs. To be able to halt an object being propelled at that speed...

“In addition to this, Ren is adept at obtaining information from detainees, though I am not allowed to disclose exactly how. It would threaten Ren's safety, in the off chance that one of you should betray him.” You must all look incredulous, because suddenly his bright and chipper expression turns to malice. “Oh, yes. It does happen. And they are immediately sentenced to death by firing squad. Though if you ask me, it is a fate too mild.” Several of your peers nod in agreement.

Your lecturer composes his face again, and his bright charisma returns. “Lastly, Ren is an expert swordsman, wielding an ancient weapon he has crafted by hand, himself.”

Your eyes widen. He… he built it himself? How extraordinary. You wouldn't even know how to use it, yet its master knows it so well he was able to create it from nothing. You see now why he felt the need to mention his mastery of it, and feel ashamed at ever having questioned his ability, much less to his face.

“This is not a complete list of his skills, but it is enough to demonstrate why our duty is so important. He is the First Order's greatest asset, and our function as the assistant body must live up to his expectations in addition to the standards of excellence of the First Order.”

You're still fascinated by it all. You didn't even know there was such a thing as the Force, much less that it could be manipulated and controlled. You suddenly wish to see Ren on the battlefield, though you know you could never perform well enough to fight alongside him.

Then your wish is immediately granted, as your lecturer pulls out a datapad and draws up a holographic video of Ren in action. He descends from a shuttle, coming down the ramp calmly and slowly. Then the view changes, and his weapon is ignited. You watch him whirl gracefully, blocking blaster bolts with his saber and deflecting them back at the shooters. Excitement builds in your chest. A woman in front of you gasps.

All of the shooters have been taken out by their own gunfire, except for one, who has had the unfortunate idea of attempting to shoot Ren from behind. He whirls around, one outstretched hand blocking the fire, and then immediately slashes through the shooter's wrist, severing the hand that held his blaster. The shooter howls with pain, and then Ren stabs him in the gut, and he falls.

You catch your breath, and the holo ends. A moment later, a round of applause breaks out in the room. You join in, feeling your whole body tingle. Suddenly, all of his actions against you are justified and forgiven.

“His unique skills play very well with our adept military. And now that you have seen him on the battlefield, I must show you his less pleasing reality.” Another holo pops up, this time of an officer delivering news to Ren. His back is turned, and though you can't see the officer's exact expression from a distance, you recognize him as the officer whom you met on your first day, who told you where to find the fire extinguisher. The unfortunate man has removed his hat in respect, and when he finishes speaking, Ren turns, slowly, to eye him. The officer cringes, finishes his thought and Ren immediately turns away, ignites his saber and destroys the computer terminal in front of him in an impressive display of rage.

The officer is terrified, but does not run away. He adds to his briefing and then, seemingly by magic, he flies off of his feet and over to Ren, his neck fitting into Ren's outstretched hand. Then Ren lets go, and he drops to his knees, gasping, as Ren leaves without another word.

You're staring in horror at the scene, and as you shakily turn to JA-2197, you see that while affected, she seems resigned; she's seen this sort of thing before. Your other classmates' reactions are varied: some are afraid, some are used to it, and one person is almost in tears. You wonder if he has been subjected to Ren's temper as well. But surely… surely there is a reason for all of this?

“It is unknown why such events take place, but it is my theory that it is the Force and Ren's tremendous power that cause him to lash out like this. Imagine a thunderstorm. When the correct conditions are met, there will be a lightning strike. What we must do is dissolve the tension and instability that can lead to the thunderstorm, so that those conditions are never met, and there is no lightning. Each of us, when placed under less than ideal conditions, is but a small, dark cloud. We are much smaller and weaker than Ren is. But just as enough clouds can make a rainy day, enough sun will break through to make it shine once again.” He seems pleased with his metaphor. “Let us all remember to be the sunny day, and not the cloud.”

You look at your desk sadly. You've been the darkest cloud of all recently.

“Let's break for now and return in a few minutes. I think we could use a rest from such an emotional and upsetting display.”

You enjoy some caf but otherwise remain at your desk. JA-2917 has stepped out, perhaps to take a walk. You're determined to study and come up with a solution to harmonize your workplace.

When your teacher returns, you all break out into groups for one-on-one exercises to practice what to do in the event of a code red or black. Then, when you have learned to his satisfaction, and after you recite various iterations of “shelter-in-place” and “evacuate the area”, you break for lunch.

You and JA-2917 sit together again, and you're joined by the young man you saw in tears earlier. You're curious—what did Ren do to him? He must have failed in some way.

“So tell me about the Code Black incident,” JA-2917 says, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Well, uh...” You make an uncomfortable face. “I was on duty, and I got a message that said 'code black, watch out, he's still in the area'. I thought there was an insurgent, so I went to investigate.” You realize, in retrospect, that that was an absolutely terrible idea. You—unarmed and slightly out of practice with hand to hand combat—thought you could take on an armed insurgent?

“Oh, no,” JA-2917 says softly.

“W-What did he do to you?” the young man asks.

You must look upset, because JA-2917 adds, “It's okay, you don't have to tell us.”

“He… froze me in place, and mocked me, then told me to run and destroyed a droid that was between me and him. I… I thought he was going to kill me.” You shake your head. “But why? I only want to loyally serve him. I guess I just need to learn a little better.”

“I understand,” the young man replies. “Sometimes I get discouraged, but then I go watch the news and see him fight, and I feel better. I feel safer knowing he is in charge.”

You perk up. “Yes, exactly. That's right.” You clasp your hands together. “Everything will be okay. What is your number?”

“FM-7283.”

JA-2917 opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“I'm MA-3425. Pleased to meet you. Do you enjoy working in Ren's service?” You eat heartily, spirits lifted.

“Yes. I was afraid of him at first, but then one day, he decided to destroy a droid instead of me. I was so thankful he saved my life.” He beams with pride.

You feel so much better. He understands you, and you realize that far from doing you harm, Ren meant to protect you from the errant droid.

You return to class, and after a brief review, you're ready for the exam portion. There are a number of multiple choice questions and an essay format.

You're about halfway through the essay when a black shape appears, blocking the light from the doorway, and you look up. It's Ren, and he's here to check on everyone to make sure you're doing well on your exams.

What a kind, thoughtful leader.

You've averted your eyes, but you summon the courage to look into his mask, and he suddenly looks at you in turn. Your heart is thudding in your chest. Your face goes warm. You wish you could see his eyes—what color are they? You feel like you've seen them before, but it was a while ago. Then he leaves, and you're left with trembling hands and a stuttering heartbeat.

Breathless, you wish you could remember his face from graduation. Maybe you can ask FM-7283—he seems to know Ren a whole lot better than JA-2917 does.

Suddenly, you grow a little jealous. Just how well does he know Ren?

Never mind, you think to yourself, and finish your exam.

You sit for a few minutes, waiting for the others to finish, and then you're all dismissed. You walk with FM-7283 and JA-2917 back to your stations.

“Did you see him come in?” FM-7283 asks, voice shy but excited. “He looked at you, you know.”

You blush. “Yeah, I guess he did. Though it probably wasn't for a good reason. Don't forget, I messed up yesterday.”

JA-2917 is quiet, scuffing her shoes on the floor. You ask her what she thinks, and she hesitantly replies. “To be honest, I think he's keeping an eye on you. You haven't exactly kept a low profile.”

“I don't _want_ to keep a low profile,” you insist. “I want him to notice me.”

“You're certainly excelling at that,” she mutters. “Just… be careful. Don't give him any reason to get angry at you.”

You feel sudden anger. Doesn't she understand? But you keep it to yourself. Maybe Ren has harmed her. Maybe she's made mistakes.

Maybe she's not the nice girl she appears to be.

You're a little disappointed. You thought it would be easy to make friends, but people seem standoffish. You bid them goodbye and head back to your desk. You're surprised to see a message on your computer terminal.

_[MA-3425, report tomorrow morning for a special assignment.]_

_Yes!_ you think to yourself. Something meaningful. Something more than just laundry and trainings. Will it be something like before, when you worked in the armory? It seems like an impossibly long time ago. Was it before you finished basic training? It must have been an internship. You can't remember. But that's okay.

You decide to eat dinner alone this time; you can't find JA-2917 or FM-7283, and you're feeling overwhelmed. It's only your what, second day? Third day?

You return to your beautiful apartment, and get ready for bed. As you do so, you see a small black orb out of the corner of your eye. You cringe. Is it an insect? You remember that one had gotten into your room once. You'd never seen one before, and it had frightened you.

But as you look up to the ceiling to investigate, you notice the orb is stationary. It's dome-shaped and inert. So it's not an insect. What is it? You go to the doorway and flick the light switch on and off, but nothing happens. It must be a burned out light. You'll ask about it another time.

You go to bed.

You dream of a letter on your desk, asking you to report to Ren's personal residence. Blushing, you do so, and he's waiting in just his tight pants and fitted undershirt. His face is soft and angular, his eyes deep and brown, cold, uninviting. You're hesitant, but he pulls you against him. 

But before he can kiss you, you wake up, gasping and shuddering. You hide under your blanket, whimpering, yet as you squirm, you realize you're aroused. You're unsure what to do, then decide to curl up on your other side, hugging the soft new blanket you've been issued, and you fall asleep again easily.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, you're getting your caf and breakfast when FM-7283 and JA-2917 find you. They invite you to their table and you sit with them, feeling refreshed after a night's sleep, though a little uneasy. The dream you had was shameful and embarrassing. Hopefully Ren never finds out.

“A special assignment?” JA-2917 echoes.

“Yes,” you reply, warming your hands on your mug of caf before taking that first blissful, warming sip. The caf here is delicious. “I have no idea what it could mean.”

You recall how you told your superior officer about this. He had stiffened slightly, but had given you leave to follow orders, of course. 

FM-7283 seems a little jealous. “I've never been given one,” he pouts, pushing his eggs around the plate with his fork.

“It's probably boring,” you reassure him, though you aren't sure anything about this job could be boring. Not after your various encounters with Ren.

The three of you finish eating in silence.

You head straight to the sector you've been to before, where you delivered the clothes, but this time, you're met at the checkpoint and presented with your own access code. You salute to the guards and continue to what you imagine to be the inner sanctum.

Then you see the officer you met before—a blonde woman, the one who'd accepted the clothes. You're suddenly nervous. Will you be working with Ren himself? You feel your palms tingle and sweat. You hope you look okay.

“You're here for the special assignment, then,” she greets you.

You suddenly feel your face heat to an uncomfortable temperature. Last night, you'd dreamed that your assignment was of a… _personal_ nature. _Oh, no._ Can Ren hear you? Is he here?

“Eyes on me, MA-3425,” she interrupts, and you realize with sudden embarrassment that you'd been looking for him. “Come with me.”

You retreat to her office.

“You've been chosen for advanced stormtrooper training,” she informs you, and you're confused, but elated. Maybe this will be the important role you were hoping for when you graduated. 

“It looks like they're offering this opportunity to more people,” she continues. “Which I guess makes sense. Have you passed your fitness tests?” You nod; you've only been through basic training, but it had come easily to you. “Good. Let's get you your new armor, and then we can go to the armory and check out a blaster.” 

The armory. You remember now—your internship was helping people get weapons checked out. 

You arrive with her and stare, confused. Weren't the desks laid out differently? There must be an armory for each sector. Yes, that's it. 

The young man at the desk gives you your new standard-issue blaster, and you're on your way to get your gear and armor. You sign up to have an armor fitting, and your superior officer takes you to go and get some basic t-shirts and shorts to work out in, as well as some stretch leggings. 

Once you're outfitted, your first task is to do your normal daily exercises, except this time around, they are twice as difficult. There's a significant endurance run, and as you follow your superior to the training areas, she surprises you by leading you into an elevator instead.

Your confusion must be apparent, because she answers your question before you ask it. “There's a new facility you'll be using. The track is longer and designed to simulate uneven terrain. If you're going to go on missions, you need to become familiar with natural planetary conditions.” She wrinkles her nose. “People who never leave their stations become weaker.”

You feel a bit put out, but you keep it to yourself.

You arrive at the new training center, and you notice that the track varies by grade and type of surface. Some areas are at an incline, and some have uneven ground.

“Begin,” she says without warning, and you set off.

The run is not easy. You almost trip three times as you go over the first patches of dirt. Dirt, like the surface of… of what? You can't remember.

Next, you're jogging up a steep incline, trying your best to maintain good traction. The dirt changes to sand and then to rocks. You trip and land on your hands and knees with a crackle.

Breathing hard with frustration, you get back to your feet, brush yourself off and keep running, with particular attention to your footwork. The rocks give way to ice, a slippery floor that once again has you knocked sprawling onto your backside. You curse in pain, and get up. Basic training was not that long ago—you're annoyed at your difficulties, but refuse to give up.

Your superior is waiting for you at the end of your run, which is now the beginning. You are informed that you've run two miles.

“I see you fell twice. Don't do that again. But as for the rest, well done.”

You nod. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Now give me two more and then I'll show you what's next.”

You withhold the sigh and do as she asks. The second lap only makes you fall once, and your knees would be skinned completely if you weren't wearing leggings. What are they made of? You'll check them out when you wash them later.

What are Ren's clothes made out of? You wish you could study textiles. They're likely constructed out of expensive, indestructible fabric. You wonder, morbidly, what he'd do to you if you destroyed them again.

Shuddering in fear, you run faster. That won't happen. You aspire to perfection. 

Your muscle memory feels familiar. Was there another time you ran like this? What were you running from? What could you possibly have had to fear? Ren's been watching over you, protecting you. But from whom?

You decide to stop thinking. You're mistaken. You're tired. The endorphins must be getting to you.

The third lap is uneventful; you must be getting better at this. Your superior nods when you return. “Much better. Let's go. Rocky terrain isn't the only thing you need to be prepared for.”

You follow her to an unfamiliar sector of the _Finalizer_. She keys into a blast door you don't recognize, and salutes to a group of important-looking officers. They allow the two of you through, and you feel a bit self-conscious. You probably don't look very presentable at the moment. Looking down, you grow uncomfortable at the way the curves of your legs are so visible through your pants. Nothing is exposed, of course—there are shorts over them, and you've merely been working out. Are you sweaty?

You look away from them and down at the floor, then up again at the middle of your superior officer's back. She is tall, with curly hair that you could imagine flowing down her back, were it not against regulation. She is powerfully built, but not like Ren, despite nearly being his height.

Then again, no one is built like Ren. It's an unfair comparison.

“The perfectly controlled atmosphere within the ship doesn't make for realistic conditions for training. We need to train in all climates.”

“Yes, sir.” You look around the corridor you're walking through. It's getting hot. The walls are blank, gray and black, just like they are everywhere else.

“It's likely that if deployed, you will have to be prepared for hotter temperatures. We need people who can function in a desert environment.”

You're curious as to why, but hold back your questions just in time.

“Now, what we're going to do is just walk this track at first. You need to get acclimated before you can do strength or cardio training, or else you'll just pass out. I'll be accompanying you in the event that this occurs. Do your best not to, though. I'm not your safety net, and I won't be able to rescue you in a real situation. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

She places her ID badge against a flat card reader to the left of the door you've been approaching. “Let's go.”

She opens the door and you brace yourself. It's like opening the door to one of those industrial dryers while it's still operating. Or Ren's saber in your face—

“Keep it together, MA-3425,” she cautions. You nod shakily.

The two of you begin to walk, and you throw up one hand to block the light. Are there places like this in the galaxy? You try to look at the light source, but it hurts.

“Don't do that. You could go blind.”

“Blind, sir?”

“You could lose your eyesight,” she explains testily. “Don't waste your future just because you're curious. It's a powerful light meant to simulate the sun on the surface of a planet. You did study at least a _little_ geography, didn't you? You know that the proximity of stars to planets makes them either hospitable to life, or complete dead zones. Of course, some life forms find a way to eke out a living in even the worst conditions.”

“Like these, sir?” you ask, still trying to see.

She snorts. “This is nothing. There are planets we can't even land organic life forms on. Fortunately we have droids for that, but even they start to malfunction and break down at a couple thousand degrees Kelvin.”

“I see, sir.”

“The heat and light conditions we're experiencing right now are common on a lot of worlds for at least part of the year.”

“I'm grateful to be aboard the _Finalizer_ , sir, and not in a place like this.”

“Good. Savor it while you can.”

You're not sure what she means. Will you be asked to serve? You feel uneasy—what do they have in mind?

You walk in silence for perhaps an hour, as the heat becomes more and more debilitating. Sweat is pouring down your forehead. You try wiping it away with the back of your hand, but you can't keep up.

Your commander passes you a small canteen. “Sip slowly. One or two at a time. As though this is all we have for the rest of the day—because you might have to deal with that.”

You obey; you're very thirsty, but you trust your commander's advice even if you weren't bound by duty to obey her. How long will the two of you be in here—out here?

You look at the horizon. It's fuzzy, and the ground around you resembles the desert you've studied in your basic education. The lessons and photos rise up in your mind; you'd forgotten them.

Suddenly you realize. This is a lot like that dream you had, of the defector in the desert. You'd been wearing full armor, but you hadn't been aware of the heat.

What would you even do in a situation like that, you wonder?

“What's your physical status?” your commander interrupts. 

It takes you a few seconds to register that she's spoken to you. “Okay. Hot. But stable. Sir.”

“Good. Sounds like you have a decent heat tolerance. It'll need work, but you're off to a good start. Let's keep going.”

You look around for walls. How long is the chamber you're walking through? Either it goes on in all directions, or there is some kind of optical illusion. You keep scanning, wondering if there's anything else to this simulation. Hopefully not, you think to yourself, as you're unarmed. 

Then you see a figure emerge on the horizon, someone in full stormtrooper armor. Is… is this the defector from your dream? You tense suddenly.

“Sir—there's someone there!” You point.

She squints, and stops in her tracks. “What the hell? There shouldn't be anyone in here but us today. Stay here.” She leaves you behind to approach the stranger.

You're frozen, watching her with an uncomfortable feeling in your gut. Who is it? An ally? Someone you know? Was the dream a premonition?

Apparently, you aren't meant to find out, because the figure leaves after your commander speaks to them. You shake off your confusion and continue to walk with her until you reach a door, watching it slowly rise out of the sandy horizon in front of you.

“We're finished. Well done. You didn't even so much as sway on your feet. Let's break for now. Go shower and have lunch and meet me at sector 18 in 2 hours.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, only too happy to comply and leave the superheated room.

The blast of cool air that hits the two of you as you leave is welcome indeed. You notice that you're still feeling hazy as your eyes adjust—the corridor feels oddly dark now after your time in the simulated desert.

You go to take a shower, then get dressed and head over to eat lunch.

As you sit alone, you scan the rest of the room. Who was in the desert simulator with you? They were around your height, maybe an inch shorter. Are they the person you dreamed about? Are they really a defector?

Are they a future defector? Can you prevent treason?

But if that were the case… You lose your train of thought.

As you're wondering, you feel someone approach and sit at the table across from you. You look up and over from the fixed stare you'd fallen into on the steel floor behind the table, and see that JA-2917 has chosen to eat lunch with you.

“Hey. Saw you sitting here alone.”

You smile and say hello, noting that her hair looks damp. “How are you?”

“Good. How's the special assignment?”

“It's okay. I ran on uneven terrain and spent a while in a room designed to simulate a desert.”

“Oh. Interesting.” She goes to take a bite off her fork, then pauses with her mouth open. “They're not sending you anywhere, are they?”

“I have no idea. I hope not.” You take a big bite of your sandwich, as though its presence in your mouth could prevent your deployment. When you've had a good while to chew it, you add, “I don't even know what kinds of missions they send people on.” You decide not to mention the dreams about the defector.

“Do you know how long you'll be training?” she asks. Her green eyes look softer than usual, you note. Maybe she's on board with your new assignment.

“To be honest they're keeping me in the dark about it. But that's okay,” you finish brightly. “I'm sure there's a reason for that.”

She nods tentatively. “We should go play sabacc together later.” 

“That sounds nice,” you agree. “I have more training, then I have to check on the laundry and then I'm free.”

“Laundry?” She sounds surprised.

“I do laundry for Ren and his cohort,” you explain. “I haven't told you?”

“No,” she says, uneasily. “Sounds… fun.”

“It's not _that_ bad,” you reply defensively, then realize you've accidentally raised your voice at her. She looks taken aback, and has even recoiled an inch or two in her seat. “I… sorry,” you mutter, embarrassed. “I think the heat got to me.”

“That's okay,” JA-2917 reassures you, though you notice she's avoiding meeting your eyes. “Let's not stay up too late playing games tonight. You're probably weary.”

“Yeah.” You both go back to eating, the unease in your thoughts muted by the background noise of forks against plates and the quiet discussions being held around you.

JA-2917 breaks the silence. “Seems odd that you're doing laundry. They usually have droids do it,” she remarks.

“This laundry is too important for that,” you insist. “I… I mean, I messed up something on my first day,” you explain, “and I'm a human, so if a droid were to do it I'm sure they'd be even _less_ reliable! Good thing I'm the one doing it.” You laugh nervously.

JA-2917's eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“Ren's suit of armor… I dried it wrong. He was furious. But then he didn't hurt me, so he must have been in a good mood.”

She's looking closely at you, her eyes hard and severe. She's unreadable. 

Then you look at the clock on the far side of the room, and realize it's time to train again. Rising to your feet, you say goodbye quickly, and try to ignore her look.

You're fretting slightly as you walk quickly over to meet your commander. Is JA-2917 mad at you? Was she about to make wild accusations about Ren? You regret not telling her further about the importance of your work. Besides, what difference does it make if the work is usually done by droids? Maybe it's a character-buiding exercise. Maybe it's a prerequisite for learning other skills. Maybe Ren just wants to make sure you're trustworthy. Which you are, of course. 

He does know that, right?

You shake your head wildly. There's no use in thinking this way—if there were an issue, Ren would no doubt let you know. You know don't know him very well, you admit, but he doesn't strike you as the sort of person who holds back criticism or concerns. You like that in a leader, you decide.

You announce your presence to your superior officer and salute.

“Ready for more fun?” she asks, and all you can reply is 'yes, sir'. “It's time for more atmospheric endurance training. This time, we're going to go in the ice world simulator. We won't be using any specialized cold-weather gear at this time, but we do have your armor now—it was finished while you were on lunch. Let's get you into it. It will provide some cold protection, but it isn't the same level of insulation as our snow troopers are issued. For long-term assignments we do provide specialized gear, but for trainees, the key is to be exposed to the elements in conditions that are as realistic as possible. We don't have time to drop everyone at Starkiller to train them in the snow.”

You wonder if you look worried. “Yes, sir.”

“There's no risk of hypothermia here, because I'll be accompanying you once again, and because there is surveillance equipment in all of our simulators. It wouldn't do to have our trainees dropping dead before their first missions. Though you're ahead of them, so I expect you'll do well.” She attempts a smile. “Cheer up. If it helps, the actual environment on many worlds is aesthetically beautiful. Sub-zero temperatures are easier to bear when the ground looks like it's made of precious minerals.”

“Have you been to many worlds, sir?” you ask with awe.

“Yes. Though it can be a bit of a challenge when you're deployed to a planet where the days are only twelve hours long. You and I are used to twenty-four-hour days, which are standard for some planets, but not all. Sleep and comfortable temperatures are luxuries.”

“I see, sir,” you reply, fascinated.

“Come on, let's get you changed and we'll begin.”

Dressed in your new armor in the women's locker room, you stand and look at yourself in a mirror. While not as uncomfortable as you had anticipated, moving in the armor will take some getting used to. Every movement of your limbs makes armor plates click together, and you're unaccustomed to being quite so bulky. You certainly feel more secure, though—braver, stronger. Maybe your own personal abilities need work, but you feel a little more empowered to handle them. Under your armor, you're dressed in a fitted shirt and leggings. The stretch material makes it a little easier to move. You twist your upper body back and forth at the waist, rotate your shoulder cuffs, and take a few steps in place. It's nice to have armor that fits you exactly—during basic training there are only the standardized sizes. You're looking forward to being less clumsy.

You come out of the locker room and meet your superior, holding your new helmet under one arm. “Sir.”

She looks you over, then nods with approval. “How's the fit?”

“Good, sir. I forgot how bulky the armor is, though.”

“You'll get used to it,” she assures you. “It'll come in handy in the ice world simulation.” She keys the door open, and you follow her. 

A burst of cold air hits you immediately and you cringe. “Put the helmet on,” your commander advises, and you quickly follow the order. You notice, belatedly, that she has done so already. You imagine there must be fans somewhere to simulate the winds tearing into your face. You look around, trying to see where the edges of the room must be, but they're too far away to see. The horizon is hazy and white, completely blank but for the wind resistance pushing you slightly back on your feet. The ground is slick and covered in snow, one of the many solid forms that water takes when the temperature is low enough. You take a step, and it crunches pleasantly under your feet, though you wish you had a little more traction. Perhaps it's just that you haven't had time to get used to your boots in the snow.

One foot cautiously in front of the other, you follow her into the world of white. You've gone perhaps a quarter of a mile before she suddenly angles to the left instead of straight ahead.

“Is this room different, sir?” you ask.

“I want you to work on your navigation skills. You won't always have your comm on you. It can get lost, stolen or destroyed. Try and remember which direction we've come from, and when we turn around to go back, you'll be leading us.”

This sounds a little risky for your liking, but it's an order. “Yes, sir.”

Suddenly, you have an idea. You can retrace your steps by looking at the ground—your boots are making impressions in the snow.

As you look back up at the horizon, you see that snow has begun to fall from… somewhere. You try looking up at the ceiling, but it's as blank as the rest of the room, and the light source is again too bright for further scrutiny. You wonder, did Ren design this chamber? Can he control the weather as well as the mysterious Force?

After half an hour, you begin to feel cold. You're pleased that your armor kept you warm for this long; however, from the way your superior describes missions, at this time you don't have the strength, stamina or survival skills necessary to truly be able to go it alone.

The snow keeps falling, and the two of you keep on walking in silence; the only sounds you hear are the wind and snow beneath your boots, muted through your helmet. It must make communication difficult, but you can ask about that later.

She's right, you think to yourself. The snow is beautiful. Even this artificial light makes it sparkle. The light and color diminish as you walk in it, pressing it down with your body weight, but the fresh, untouched beauty stretching into hazy nothingness soothes you and lifts your spirits, even in the cold.

You wonder: what would this landscape look like under natural light? The sun must be significantly far away, you muse, recalling your astronomy classes; it is either far away in space, or on the long side of the rotation of the planet. It's likely that there is only one sun in this sky, since the presence of more than one would send more radiation and light to the surface of the planet. Would there be temperate zones on this planet? You think you still have a lot to learn.

“Still with me?” she asks. 

“Yes, sir. I was thinking about what sort of planet this could be.”

“Snow is anywhere there is precipitation cold enough to stay frozen. Some worlds are nothing _but_ snow and ice, but they're usually hostile to most life forms and thus are uninhabited.” She stops, then turns, takes one step toward you and then makes a hard left. “Remember where we are.”

“Sir…?”

“Yes?”

“If I may ask… what is the point of all this?”

“I don't get your meaning, MA-3425. The point is to follow orders.” She seems stern.

“I know, sir. But… will I be sent anywhere?”

“That is for others to decide. And even if I knew, I'd be under orders not to say so. For your own protection, and for the protection of others. Even among Kylo Ren's staff there is the possibility of traitorous impulses.”

You feel your stomach clench. But why? Who would do such a thing? “I… I don't understand, sir,” you say weakly. “Who… why...”

“Why indeed.”

If she knows anything, she isn't telling you. You decide not to press further.

An hour into the cold room simulation and you're starting to feel slower and weaker. You're thirsty, but you don't want to remove your helmet in this weather. You're having a hard time remembering how to retrace your steps. Then you see that the horizon has gone from the hazy, natural-looking mist you were used to, to a blank white wall. The simulation is over. You're thankful—now you can warm up and have some water. 

“Okay, MA-3425, time to show us the way back.”

Your face falls. You had forgotten. She hands you the same canteen from the desert room, but at least this time, it's full. You remove your helmet and drink it fast enough that she snatches it back from you. “Remember. This might be it.”

The biting chill of the air is immediately hurting your skin as you hurry to put your helmet back on. The trembling of your hands and full-body shivers make it difficult to fit the helmet over your head, and when you've succeeded, you suddenly stoop to your knees, hugging your chest in an attempt to stay warm. 

“Come on,” she says, and you slowly stand back up. You do your best to examine the ground for your footfalls, but they've been filled in with fresh snow. Every view from where you're standing is identical.

Nevertheless, you straighten your back and begin to walk. 

The first half hour goes well, though you're getting a little dizzy. But you can do it. Remember, you tell yourself, this is for Ren, for his goals and the goals of the First Order. Keep walking, you tell yourself. Keep walking. 

You squint, scanning the horizon, then stop suddenly. Is that a figure in the distance? Who are they? Why are they here? They're the defector, they must be.

“There's someone there, sir,” you cry, pointing forward.

She glances over. “No there isn't. Keep walking.” 

“But sir—”

“MA-3425,” she says loudly. _“There's no one there.”_

You try to speak, but it's too quiet to be picked up by the voice box in your helmet. Then you stagger forward and sink to the ground, falling onto your stomach and arms. Quickly melting snow gets between the plates of your armor and absorbs into the stretch material of your suit. Your eyes close.

“Oh, hell,” you distantly hear her mutter to herself. She begins addressing someone—she must be speaking into her comm.

You come to and realize you can't move. Your commander is trying to rouse you by shaking your shoulder. When you don't reply, she announces, “I'm calling for assistance. If you're delirious, you have to let someone know.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” you mumble, just audible enough to hear through the helmet.

She pulls something out of her pack and snaps it, then hands it to you. “Put this near your chest. It will help keep you warm.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You hold the object below your chest plate as you continue to shiver violently. 

A two-man medical team arrives, and they haul you onto a stretcher, carrying you back to where you started, which as it turns out was not very far at all. You'd be embarrassed, but you're losing consciousness.

As you slowly drift off, you hear familiar voices and the hiss of a door opening. 

“Sir. I don't think she will be of any use to you… does okay with heat, but...”

“For my purposes she'll do fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

You perk up. Who was that? You try to lift your head up, but your view is blocked by the medical team carrying you. You lay back, still dizzy, and feel hot. You're sweating. You want to take off your armor, but your arms are weak.

What purposes, you wonder? Then you pass out.


	4. Chapter 4

You wake up rested, your only dream having been of someone laying a blanket over you loosely, the echo of a maternal gesture yet with none of the fondness or concern. Perhaps it had just been your subconscious reacting to stimulus—you look down at your resting form and see that you are snug in a hospital bed.

Then you remember: you were brought in on a stretcher after passing out, presumably due to hypothermia, in the ice world simulator. You feel shame wash over you. Are you in trouble? You hope there won't be any… consequences for your failure. Has Ren found out? No, you reason. Why would he? You're a lowly underling, after all. You're hardly ES-2213, his highest-ranking assistant, who you presume has seen Ren in action, or at least knows more about him than any of you do. You sigh dejectedly. Will you ever get so far? Will your skills ever improve? 

No one has come to interrupt your hospital stay, so you remain in bed and allow your thoughts to wander. You drift in and out of sleep, cozy and warm from your core all the way out to your limbs. You shift slightly, feeling the fabric of your hospital gown against your skin. Beneath it, you're in your underwear. Upon realizing this, you shiver with discomfort and pull the blanket up from your shoulders to just under your chin. Did anyone see you naked? Did they touch you? You pause and focus on your breathing, forcing it to slow. Without removing the blanket to check, you decide that you're safe. Medical droids don't care anyway, you reassure yourself, and you look around the room. It's minimalist and colorless, gray and sterile metal paneled walls like many other areas of the _Finalizer_ that you've seen—well, excepting Ren's areas. His unique décor aesthetic evidently only stretches so far. A holo projector is in the corner, and a small plate of breakfast has been left nearby. Your spirits lift when you see that it's your normal standard, brown bread and eggs. Whoever helped you must know what you like.

Still feeling delirious, you imagine Ren carrying you into the hospital, laying you into bed, then holding out one hand to flip through your thoughts like the pages of a book to instruct the medical droid on what food to bring you. 

You pause. No, that can't be right. You've been undressed, and Ren would never violate your modesty.

The medical droids, then, you decide; they could check the records of your commissary purchases. You close your eyes and slip back into dreaminess. 

You wonder. What would JA-2917 and FM-7283 think? JA-2917 is so hard to read. She could be thinking anything at any moment. She could do with a little more transparency. Well, there will be time to ask her. You feel bitter—it seems like she always knows something you don't. If you were Ren, you could find out for yourself what she thinks about when she refuses to speak. Is it painful for him? you wonder. How much strength does it take? He must get so tired. Does he sleep like a normal person, or does his mysterious Force render that necessity obsolete? You try to imagine his tall frame in a bed like your own, then blush at the intimacy of the image and squirm uncomfortably.

“Miss?”

A medical droid wheels into your room, interrupting you. You're a bit startled, but you cover it up. “I'm awake.”

“You may return to your quarters in one hour. We ask that you eat here, then we will examine you once more for abnormalities.”

“Okay,” you reply, trying to sound as alert as possible, and the droid bows, rotating around and leaving.

You sit up with some effort and the aid of the hydraulic bed lifter. Your breakfast has been placed on a mobile tray, and you tug it over to cross in front of you over your lap. You eat slowly, still trying to reconstruct the previous day's events. You sigh as you remember your promise to play sabacc with JA-2917. You hope she isn't too upset that you stood her up. You're still not sure how you feel about her or any of your other peers. Is it even possible to make friends? Even FM-7283 seems standoffish, though you appreciate his positive outlook about your duties. You decide to try to arrange to speak to him separately, in a situation where he isn't as intimidated as he usually seems to be.

You finish eating, and when you're cleared to return to your quarters, you find a transmission has been sent to your comm instructing you to take the rest of the day off. You decide to make plans to see your peers and potentially meet new people.

You realize then that you've never actually asked the others what their duties are. You send some transmissions to your acquaintances, and FM-7283 informs you that he's free in an hour.

You meet him at his post, which as it turns out is a semi-private cafeteria for higher-ranking officers. You recognize ES-2213 as one of them, and you salute him as he passes. You aren't allowed in, but you get a glimpse of the area through the door before it closes. It's a very classy hall, with long dark tables made out of a black mineral you're unfamiliar with. FM-7283 is cleaning and polishing the tables, with a cart full of dirty dishes nearby. They're beautiful, made of some heavy earthy material that is so very unlike the plates you're used to—white, plastic, scratched from years of use, and used on tables that are worn and stained. You catch a very brief look at the menu, which features meats you've never even heard of.

The door hisses shut, and you wait outside. Then FM-7283 comes out to greet you, his uniform damp in places, bits of food and soap bubble clouds on his pants.

“I'm sorry,” he begins, gesturing at his clothes.

“It's nothing, work is dirty,” you assure him.

“I should change. Could you walk with me to the sector 17 barracks?”

Barracks?

“Of course.” You follow him, trying to hide the surprise and confusion you feel. FM-7283 isn't a sanitation worker—he's a food worker. He's a step above sanitation, and isn't _that_ far below your level, yet he lives in the barracks.

You feel a momentary alarm—are you special in getting your own room?—but shrug it off. They must like you more. You've proven your worth, somehow, or they see your potential and want to encourage you to achieve. You're sure that once FM-7283 ascends in the ranks, he will be awarded better living conditions. Maybe you're further above him than you thought. But then, didn't JA-2917 say that usually droids did the laundry? Then again, she's been wrong before.

You come out of your thoughts as you realize you've arrived. FM-7283 has already gone in to change, and soon he emerges in more casual clothes. You note the threadbare shirt, the small tears at the hem.

“What do you want to do?” he asks brightly.

“I… thought we could play sabacc. Or something. I'm not sure what people do for fun. That's just what JA-2917 suggested yesterday.” You feel a little embarrassed, but then you remember that you haven't exactly been here a long time. You've been too busy to check out the recreation centers.

“That sounds fun,” he agrees. “Although… I actually don't know how to play,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh. Me neither.” You had assumed that JA-2917 would teach you.

He laughs nervously. “Let's go see what else there is to do.”

The two of you head in the direction of the recreation center. FM-7283 looks tired, you notice—his gait is a little weak, and the circles under his eyes are somewhat dark. He's naturally pale, with a complexion that is easily reactive to emotion. You remember the whiteness in his face while you watched the holovid of Ren speaking to the terrified officer. He's an inch or two shorter than you, and a little too thin for regulation physical fitness standards. He looks as though he has trouble sleeping, and you notice him curling and uncurling his fingers as you walk.

He seems… unwell. A game could help improve his mood.

The two of you find a table in one of the game halls, and FM-7283 gets up to examine a wall full of boxes. A junior First Order member is performing the task of signing games out to the various groups that surround you. With pleasant surprise, you notice that there are groups of people whose friendships transcend rank. Some are still in uniform and others are in off-duty clothes ranging from your own new, neat shirt and slacks to FM-7283's well-worn shirt and trousers to a plain dress worn by someone who you assume has had enough time for planetary leave. You envy them, wondering if you'll have a chance to bring something home with you.

You look down at the table you've chosen; it's a bit small for any of the tabletop games your companion is eying. The round metal surface is smooth and divided into alternating colored shapes. Your elbow bumps the side of the table and a hologram appears. Several large aliens stand on the two sides of the board, stretching and making war cries.

FM-7283 returns with a box, but you're busy trying to figure out the controls. “Oh, I guess we can try that.” He sets the box under the table and finds two controllers attached to the underside. 

The game, as it turns out, is called holochess, and the objective is to capture the opponent's squares, apparently killing the holographic aliens in the process. You find it amusing, if a bit dark. FM-7283 is a little put off by it, but he seems to be enjoying himself. His gray-blue eyes are less weary than before, though he still feels a little off. Then again, you don't know him nearly well enough to judge for certain.

You're staring intently at the board when you're interrupted by voices murmuring in unison. “MA-3425,” your companion says urgently, and you look up from the board and over in the direction he's pointing.

Kylo Ren is standing in the doorway, looking into the room, scanning it. The little junior member greets him with nervous yet genuine enthusiasm. He regards her with disinterested formality. Then he turns and sees you and FM-7283, who has shrunk back slightly as if to hide behind you.

Ren slowly approaches you, and you leap to your feet to salute, feeling FM-7283 back away.

“At ease,” he replies, somewhat coldly. “What is your medical status?”

How disarmingly direct, you think to yourself, and all but shout your reply. “I'm cleared for duty tomorrow. Sir,” you finish awkwardly.

Ren pauses. “Good. See to it that you do not fail again.”

The word 'fail' hits you square in the chest, but your face remains forcibly optimistic. “Yes, sir.”

He looks you up and down, his gaze uncomfortably lingering on you, then turns and departs without another word.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, your throat so tight you can barely breathe. You watch him leave, your eyes following the lines of his broad shoulders, then traveling down his arms to observe what little of his lean belted waist you can see that isn't covered by his cowl. His posture is elegant and proud and perfectly straight. 

“MA-3425,” FM-7283 calls out.

“What?” you reply, breathlessly whirling around. He's sitting down behind you, eyes wide with emotion—fear?

What is he afraid of?

“What was that?” he demands, voice shrinking.

“What was what?” you ask quickly, sitting down, wiping your sweaty, tingling palms on your pants.

“Ren. Why did he come here to talk to you?”

You're more than a little offended at the emphasis he places on the word _you_. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. What's going on? What's your new assignment?” He sounds pained. You're unsure whether to be angry at him, or pity him.

“I—I don't know yet,” you admit. “I'm just going through advanced stormtrooper training at the moment.”

“But you've only just gotten here,” he protests, voice rising in pitch with frustration.

“Are you upset with me?” you ask, startled.

The question makes him pause. A few seconds go by, measured by the slowing of your heart rate. “No,” he says, finally, though you don't believe him. “But you're new. I've been in Ren's service for several solar cycles now. Why doesn't he want me instead?”

He has? You thought all of you were new. How much is there about your peers that they haven't been telling you? How long has JA-2917 been in Ren's service? What does she even do? You've neglected to ask.

“I… I'm sorry,” you say, “but there's nothing I can do. It's not like I chose this.” You sit in a fixed stare at the chess table. 

He sighs huffily, and you look back up at him. You're shocked to see that he's almost in tears. “I… are you okay?”

He suddenly places his head in his hands. Sandy hair falls over the top of his forehead. 

“Maybe you should go to the med bay,” you add softly.

“Why?” he accuses. “There's nothing wrong with me.”

“I—I didn't _say_ that. Calm down. Let's talk.” You lay one palm open across the chess board, reaching under it with your other hand to switch off the game. He uncovers his face and takes your hand. His hand is cold, his grip a little too tight. He doesn't speak.

“Do you remember what ES-2213 said during that meeting? That we've all been hand picked for this team. Ren wanted us specifically,” you reason, with pride. “That includes you.”

“He didn't even acknowledge my presence,” he says sadly, down at the table. “He never does. But you...”

You don't know how to answer. You're still on an adrenaline high from your encounter with Ren. “Just keep working hard,” you suggest. “He will.” You squeeze his hand comfortingly. “I believe in you,” you add, though you feel a little dishonest in saying so.

He looks up at you, and you see the tracks of drying tears on his cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, with some relief, then lets go of your hand, attempting a smile. “I got some cards, and the receptionist gave me this.” He digs the box and a small portable holo book out from under the table. “We can learn sabacc, she gave me the rules right here.” 

Your body relaxes when you see that he's calmer and that he appears to feel better. Maybe he's been stressed and just needed an outlet. “Let's do it.”

 

Several rounds of sabacc later, the two of you decide to call it a night. FM-7283 looks refreshed, and overall, you're satisfied with how the day has gone. Of course, it would have been better had you not collapsed in the ice world simulator the previous day, but you feel better now.

Besides, if you hadn't gotten sick, maybe Ren wouldn't have visited you.

You feel a twinge of discomfort at this thought. No, that won't do. He wants you to impress him.

As you key open the door to the group of rooms your bed is in, you allow your thoughts to drift toward Ren. You likely made a fool of yourself in front of your peers, but then, does that matter?

You undress and put on your pajamas. Getting into bed, you lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling. How did Ren know you'd fallen ill? He must be keeping tabs on everyone's health. How considerate. You feel protected, and you hug your blanket to your chest. Though you've never met General Hux, you wonder if he'd be quite so attentive to his personnel. Have any of your peers met the General? You decide to wake up a little bit early to reread one of your manuals before you catch up on laundry duties. You cringe; there's likely a huge buildup of work you need to get through before you can do more training. Surely they'll understand?

Your mind replays the scene in the rec hall over and over. Ren's indifference to the junior member greeting him and the calm smoothness of his tone—despite the crackling of his masked voice—stand out to you. If you listen intently for long enough, you can almost remember what his voice sounds like without it. When did he take the mask off? At your graduation ceremony? You long to hear him again. Why does he wear the mask? Perhaps it helps him focus his mysterious power. You shiver; you were afraid, you admit, when you saw him during the Code Black incident, but as you think back to the way his saber spun so effortlessly in his hand, you realize you were treated to a display of power.

Then you remember that he told you you had failed. Your chest tightens with pain. You never want to hear him say it again. You must not disappoint him again. You're so lucky that he wasn't angry at you.

_Don't worry, my lord,_ you think to yourself. _I can do this. I can be at your service, at your command._

You fall asleep, turned over onto your side, with your blanket in your embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

You wake up rested and happy. You don't remember dreaming, but you remember feeling filled with purpose. You get out of bed, dress, and sit down with your training manual in the cafeteria with a cup of caf and your brown toast and eggs.

Your comm beeps. _[MA-3425, please report to sector 47 for training at 1400 hours.]_ Perfect, you think to yourself. Plenty of time to check your desk and catch up on the laundry you've missed.

You open the manual, curious to see where General Hux belongs in all of this. Is he Ren's commander? You see flowcharts and pyramids, but it looks as though he and Ren are on distinct-yet-equal footing. You scoff. You're sure Ren is really in charge, though of course you are bound by honor and duty to obey both of them. Perhaps General Hux can do things Ren can't do, though that seems unlikely.

You feel guilty. These aren't nice thoughts. They have the seeds of treachery in them. You're sure that General Hux is a charismatic and venerable leader, and if you are ever to meet him, it would be a true honor.

Your breakfast has grown cold, but you finish it anyway, and opt to put your manual into the drawer of your desk when you get there. It seems lonely. You sit down at it and check your messages. Oddly enough, there are none. You shrug, then get to your feet and go to the laundry room.

As you key open the door, you cringe at how full the huge baskets are. How can there be so much to do already? You find your apron and gloves and get to work, filling the huge basin with water so you can soak the fabrics that have been caked with the blood of the enemy.

About halfway through the first basket, you find those unusual garments that don't fit regulation. You know now that they are Ren's. You set them aside to wash with his other pieces—you would find it unlikely that he wore the same clothes for three days.

After the first basket is empty, you run out of available machines to use. While they run, you dig through and sort the contents of the other two baskets to find a few more sets of Ren's clothes and some others of unknown origin. You carry them in your arms to the long folding table, separating Ren's regalia pieces and arranging them neatly: first the pants, then the shirts—you tuck the hem into the waistband of the pants—and last, the cowl and hood above the shirt to create a flat outline of Ren's figure. You stare at your handiwork and giggle. 

Then you frown. You've forgotten the armor. A quick search in the baskets and it's nowhere to be found. You tense suddenly; where is it? Has it been lost? Stolen? But then, that's absurd—Ren would know immediately if it had been. You decide to examine the clothes you've so tidily arranged, and find no blood or machine oil. Maybe the armor isn't here because it's still clean.

You pick up one of his black shirts, looking closely. Are his clothes of finer material than your own? Seeing no blood or hazardous materials present, you take off your gloves and feel the fabric between your fingers. It's soft, a little stretchy. Then, against your better judgment, you bring it to your face and inhale deeply.

Oh, stars. Is that what Ren smells like?

Then you drop it in sudden and acute embarrassment. What are you _doing?_ These are your master's and they're dirty and have been in a hamper with the others. Shaking your emotions off, you push all of Ren's clothes into a pile at the end of the table and queue them up for an empty machine. You look at the other unusual pieces; rather than uniforms or Ren's gear, these are casual, soft black pants and slightly worn shirts. They are not the same stretch fabric as the ones he wears under his armor—these are more like the shirts you wear to bed.

You stop and look down at them. Are they Ren's pajamas? And those… those are _definitely_ his underwear.

You put your gloves back on. You have no right to touch his intimate garments with your bare hands. It's an invasion of privacy.

Ignoring the hot flush in your cheeks, you shift the wash loads to the dryers and select the least noisy and worn out machine for Ren's clothes. Then you sigh, and go through the rest.

When you're finished, you make your trip with the regulation uniforms, then go back to collect Ren's clothes. You fold them delicately, unsure how he'd want them to look exactly, but follow the pictures in your training manual and do your best with the others. Then you drop them off, and return to your desk.

You sit down, checking your inbox again, and you find a message. It's from your trainer, who has sent you an altered schedule containing your training sessions so that you and your unit can plan accordingly.

Then you hear voices coming from a closed door behind and to your right.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Will I be given additional assistance now that MA-3425 has been selected? I have not had time to teach her how to provide administrative support for our unit. I was told that she would become responsible for part of this, but I haven't even been able to get her started.”

“Our orders are from Ren himself. Unless he sees fit to give us additional support, we all must do the best we can.”

“You don't find it strange, sir?”

A long pause.

“No, I do not. That's enough free speech out of you. I'll try to find you help, but otherwise, we all must obey.”

You're curious—who is speaking? You go to turn around to see, but it feels wrong as you've been eavesdropping. You close your eyes and bow over your desk as the door opens, and you don't raise your head back up until they're gone. 

Sighing, you look at the time. Feeling uncomfortable about what you just heard, you decide to go and read the advanced manuals you haven't had time to touch yet. If that person is right, you're a little behind, and while it might not matter in the long run, you'd still rather not let anyone down. Plus, you'll still be able to continue your present duties if they decide that you can't be a soldier after all.

You swallow. That can't happen. You'd never let Ren down, and judging by the fact that he came and visited you in the rec hall to confirm your medical status, your place in the training must be by his design. You're suddenly worried for the first time. Ren's decisions may be infallible, but you certainly are not. What if you mess up? It wouldn't be the first time—you remember Ren's shrunken armor, the cold chill of his darkened mood as he met with you in his office, or whatever that room was.

Would Ren be there to accompany you on whatever mission you're being trained for?

You shake off your nerves and start reading. Data entry doesn't sound very interesting, but at least it's a step up from laundry services. You think.

You meet with JA-2917 for lunch. As you sit down, you notice that she seems testy, possibly even annoyed. You can feel the stress coming off of her in waves. Is she okay?

“Hey,” you greet warmly. Maybe she needs some support, someone to talk to. You can't help but notice that many people around you seem to be out of sorts lately.

“Hi,” she replies, a bit short. You watch as she digs into her meat and grains almost angrily. She's eating quickly; she must be busy or behind in her duties.

“How are you?” you ask, though you're unsure you want to discuss it after yesterday's adventure with FM-7283.

“Busy,” she sighs, shoveling a mouthful of pale meat into her mouth.

“Same here,” you add in an attempt to relate. Then you remember that you have no idea what JA-2917 does for Ren's support staff. “I'm sorry,” you begin, “but I don't think I ever actually asked you what your duties are.”

“You won't find it very interesting,” she says abruptly. “Data entry. Administrative work. Maintaining records, reports, making sure everyone has the documentation they need. I used to have help, but not anymore, so now I'm doing it all myself.” This admission seems to frustrate her all over again, and she shakes her head at her plate, smoothing a few strands of hair off of her forehead.

“Oh.” You trail off and busy your mouth and hands with your sandwich. You chew for longer than necessary to avoid further conversation. Why are you so uncomfortable? you wonder to yourself. You haven't known each other nearly long enough to be concerned. 

Then it dawns on you. Is JA-2917 the one you heard speaking earlier? 

No, there's no way that's correct. The girl you know wouldn't speak to a superior like that. You're sure that JA-2917 is every bit as loyal to the First Order as you are.

“How's training?” she asks, with her mouth full.

You're feeling timid. If it's true that your absence is causing her stress, you're unsure you wish to talk about it.

But she asked, so you reply. “It's okay. I, uh, fainted in the ice world simulator.” You stare down at the table in shame.

For the first time, she seems to be engaged. “Ice world simulator? That's interesting.”

You wonder if you were allowed to tell her about it, but it's too late now. “Yeah. I guess it's to train people to be able to withstand cold. My superior officer told me that people here are too used to climate-controlled atmospheres.”

“Isn't Starkiller—” She ends her sentence abruptly, then tries again. “I think she's right about the staff of the _Finalizer_. Some of the people on Starkiller Base are able to go on a brief trip to the surface. I imagine its stormtroopers get trained in that natural environment.”

“Are you from Starkiller?” you ask.

Her eyes narrow. “Yes. I told you this when we met.”

“What's it like there?” 

She looks at you in disbelief. 

“I'm sorry. You must be stressed from before,” you add hastily.

“Yes… that must be it,” she agrees. “In any case, the information is classified. Your curiosity will have to be satisfied by someone else.”

“Like Ren?” you perk up happily.

She stares at you. “Why Ren? He's not terribly social. Or keen on discussing classified information with people of your rank, or mine for that matter. Or really, anyone below ES-2213.” 

Your smile fades. “But… I mean, _I_ think he cares. He came to see me to make sure I was okay after I fainted in the ice world simulator.” You pick up your sandwich again and take a bite. It's delicious.

“He came to see you? Where? When?” 

You're disturbed by the suspicion in her voice. “I was in the rec hall with FM-7283. We were playing sabacc. Sorry I didn't invite you,” you add nervously, but she doesn't seem to care. “Ren just came in and asked me about my medical status, and then left. Isn't that wonderful of him? I feel so safe.” 

JA-2917 tenses, then sits up straight, puts down her fork, finishes swallowing what she was eating and holds your gaze. You involuntarily shrink back an inch or two in your chair.

“I need to say something,” she starts, “and I need you to listen to me and take what I say to heart. This is coming from someone who has been in Ren's service for a while.” 

You nod anxiously.

“Kylo Ren does not personally care about his staff like that. He is a warrior, a machine. Not a friend, not even to ES-2213, and _especially_ not to you or me.

“Now, I can't say what his intentions are, and we are duty-bound to obey his every word regardless. But please, MA-3425… don't mistake his attention for friendship. He's watching you. We're tools for him, a means to an end. We could discuss the pros and cons of that reality, but they don't matter. So just… keep doing your work, keep training, do your best. But be careful. Please.” She gives a labored sigh and looks pityingly at you. “He's not your friend. You can call me your friend, but not him.”

You look at her with menace, and look down, noticing your hands balled into fists at your side. Adrenaline courses through your blood, and your whole body shakes.

“No,” you reply, finally. “You are _not_ my friend. A true friend wouldn't lie to me like you do. First you tell me that we're all from Starkiller, which is impossible and you know it—and you pretend you know the numbering conventions for personnel, which you obviously _don't_. Then you tell me that laundry is done by droids, which doesn't make sense because I'm the one doing it. Then, you tell me that the man who takes an interest in our personal welfare, who watches over our training, who cares about my health, who gave me a room and the clothes I wear and the opportunity for a meaningful career and service… you tell me that he's using me.” Your body is tight with indignation.

“You have your own room?” she asks, confused.

“Of course I do,” you snap. “Don't you understand?” Your voice rises in pitch with emotion.

“No, I _don't_ understand,” JA-2917 exclaims. “Care to explain? Because it's unusual.”

“I don't know why I have my own room, but it doesn't matter. I'm old, I graduated training late. I have nothing, and he gave me everything. I shouldn't deserve any of this attention or these gifts but I have them and I'm just grateful, okay? Can't either of you be happy for me? I notice you haven't asked me why I didn't show up to sabacc the other day. You don't care, do you? Ren cares,” you babble, voice wavering slightly.

“You're being irrational,” JA-2917 chides you. “Like I said. Be careful. He's just—”

“He's just _what?_ ” You stand up in fury. People have begun to look at the two of you. “Say it. Tell me that we're all meaningless cogs in Ren's machine. Lie to me, one more time, by telling me he doesn't care. Go ahead and ignore my unequivocal evidence to the contrary, that he's kind and considerate and attentive—”

“Listen to yourself,” she shouts, standing up. “Think hard about the way you're explaining this to yourself. Think about the logical fallacies involved, and how nothing quite adds up. And when you're ready to apologize to me for making a scene, you know where to find me. All I said was to be careful, and you lashed out at me.” She looks at her comm. “I have to go back to my desk. I have too much to do to argue my point further.” She grabs her tray.

She leaves in a huff. You watch as she goes, feeling guilty. Then you sit back down to finish your cold meal. The people watching you have returned to their meals, though their voices are lower in volume than before.

You feel like crying. Why can't you make friends? Why are people so cruel? Do their lives have so little meaning that they must derive it from playing these games? You long for Ren to appear, to explain your purpose and remind you of your ultimate goal. Maybe FM-7283 would be good company again tonight, though his despair over his career made him difficult to talk to.

You decide that this evening, you are going to go to the rec center alone in an attempt to make new friends—friends who tell the truth, who don't explode in despair or jealousy. Friends who understand the importance of your work, and who support you instead of tearing you down.

You look at your comm. It's time to start the new course of your stormtrooper training. You return your dishes, change clothes, and meet your trainer at sector 47.

“Welcome back. Does your adjusted schedule give you enough time for your usual duties?”

“Yes, sir. Though...” You trail off, unsure if you should continue, but she nods, crossing her arms. “I'm worried that I have duties I haven't been given yet and that not being there is causing other people stress.” You look forlorn.

“Don't worry. They have their assignments, you have yours. If any one of them were selected for training, you'd do the same for them. Now, let's head to the gym. Our focus is on weight training today. If you've kept up with the First Order's rigorous physical fitness standards, you'll be on your way, but we need to up your stamina. That armor weight adds up. You'll need to be much stronger.” She leads the way, and you follow her.

Your commander shows you around the weight room, but you come here often, so you go and pick up your usual weights.

“That's a good start, but we'll need to increase your capabilities. Grab the next two sets up.”

You wince and do as she asks. Hopefully you won't be too sore. 

She instructs you, but you're familiar with the routine. You aren't, however, familiar with the heavier weights, the aching, the wobbliness of your limbs and joints and your sudden hesitance to lift in any position where you could accidentally drop one of the weights on your foot.

As you lie on the bench, your commander slipping an alarmingly large weight to either side of the bar, you wonder how much Ren can lift. Can he lift things with the Force?

She spots you as you do ten uncomfortable reps, then to your relief, informs you that you've done well and it's time to move on.

“Now. Today, we enter the next phase of training—you'll be learning a new skill. Follow me.” She leads the two of you to an empty room, and leaves you alone while she steps out, ostensibly to get equipment. You take the opportunity to stretch until she gets back. 

“Here.” She hands you an unfamiliar weapon, and has reserved a staff for herself. “You're going to become proficient in its use.”

A smile breaks out on your face. “Yes, sir.” You hold the weapon in your dominant hand; it's heavy, made of metal, with two prongs at the end. As you hold it by its handle, you notice it bears a slight resemblance to a blaster, but it isn't one. What is it?

“It's a Z6 riot control baton,” she explains. “When it's energized, there's an electrical current that runs along the end. It's for crowd control, for maintaining order. The electrical beam is strong enough to stun someone without killing them. If it becomes necessary, that's when you would pull out your blaster.”

“I see,” you reply, staring at the baton. It looks powerful, possibly even scary. How would it fare against Kylo Ren's lightsaber?

“We're going to train you to use it. I'm an unruly citizen, and I'm attacking you. How would you apprehend me?” 

Your superior lunges at you suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. Fortunately, your instincts keep you from getting slammed in the shoulder by her staff as you raise your baton to block. 

You're doing fairly well until she throws her body weight into one lunge and knocks you onto your backside. Her superior strength and size have you outmatched; you now know that she can knock you sprawling just by forcing you back with her weapon against yours.

Since this is a training session, she takes a step back and allows you to get up before once again going on the offensive. Three seconds later, you're on the ground again, and she calls the fight off.

You get up, a little disheartened and a lot bruised.

“That was a pretest. Seems like you aren't too out of shape.” She lets her outstretched arm fall to her side, lowering her staff. “Let's go over some drills, and then that's enough for today. You're probably sore from weight training.”

“Yes, sir.” You are indeed sore, but you feel energized. This is new, it's exciting—it's everything you've hoped for. You have a real destiny now, with real goals, and you finally have a way to impress Ren. Granted, your fledgling combat skills compared with his are the equivalent of a child turning a starship on beside a seasoned pilot, but there is potential.

The drills go well, and you leave sweaty and bruised but on an adrenaline high. You can't stop smiling. You go back and shower and then head to the rec center, alone this time. You don't need JA-2917 insulting Ren and doubting your talent, and you're unsure FM-7283 would take it well. What would he say if he knew about your new combat training?

You decide to sit at a table in the back, turning on the holochess board and playing a match against yourself. 

“Hey. I remember you from the safety training,” a voice begins, and you look up. Standing above you is a tall, muscle-bound servicemember, dressed in off-duty clothes. You don't recognize him, but greet him politely anyway. “Can I sit down?” he asks while doing so, and in your mind your eyes narrow. Why ask if he's going to do it anyway? 

“I'm MA-3425,” you say, trying to ignore what you're assuming is bravado.

“Really now.” He crosses his arms, and you're a little intimidated. “We know who you are.” He gestures to the two behind him, a shorter man and a woman, who both look sullen. You give them a hello and a half-hearted wave.

“You do?” 

“Everyone does,” he counters.

“Why?” The chessboard aliens begin to look around, no doubt wondering if you're going to continue playing. You hope the power-saving shutoff mode isn't enabled.

“Well, let's just say that you don't work in Ren's department for seven solar cycles without recognizing new blood when you see it. And you're _very_ new.” His companions find nearby chairs and sit down on either side of him; somehow having the three of them against you sitting down is more intimidating than them standing up. “Too new to be chosen for advanced training,” he adds, voice getting lower and darker.

You do _not_ like where this conversation is going. “That's what I thought myself,” you try to explain, “but—”

“Do you think no one's noticed? You must have some influence behind the scenes.” He looks angry.

“I… well, Ren seems to have taken an interest—” 

The looks on their faces are telling you that you have chosen the worst possible thing to say at this moment.

“Ren, huh?” he scowls. “Why? What did you do?”

“I don't _know_ ,” you huff despairingly. Is there no one in the First Order who can just be happy for you?!

“Hey. You three,” you hear, and you're surprised to see JA-2917 appear, awkwardly staggering through the crowd of tables. “Leave her alone. It's not her fault you all failed your quals again.”

“Why, you—” The brawny man gets up, reels his arm back, and goes to throw a punch, but JA-2917 sidesteps it and grabs his arm, locks it behind him, and knees him in the groin. He drops to the ground, swearing loudly. “You two. After her!”

You whip out your comm and hit the distress signal as you get out of your seat. You're still mad at JA-2917, but it's lessening as you watch her so willingly take on your bullies.

“Why are you defending her?” the fallen man shouts. “It's you who were next in line for the assignment. You—”

“That's enough,” you hear in a familiar voice, and feel your mouth open in utter shock as you behold the towering figure of Kylo Ren. All five of your heads turn to face him, and your attacker gets to his feet as you all salute.

“I shall only say this once,” he says, voice low and menacing, and with a single gesture, your assailant and JA-2917 both begin clutching at their throats. “Internal violent behavior among servicemembers is not tolerated. The First Order demands the complete commitment and obedience of its servicemembers. Engage in this again and you have directly disobeyed my commands, which is punishable by reconditioning or death. So choose wisely,” he growls. 

You stare at Ren in horror until they are both released, and he turns to leave, scowling audibly.

Your attacker turns to you, finishing his coughing fit. “He can't protect you forever,” he sneers. “But don't worry. He'll no longer want to.” He and his friends run off.

JA-2917 is still catching her breath, wheezing and coughing. You turn to her. “I'm so sorry, are you okay—”

“What the _hell_ just happened?” she rasps, gesticulating wildly. “I come here… to play sabacc,” she gasps, “only to find those creeps bullying you, and then _Ren_ of all people interferes?”

You help her sit down and go to get her a glass of water. Then you sit in front of her, holding out your hand as an offering of comfort. “I don't know either. I've never seen them before in my life.” Your eyes light up. “But Ren answered my comm distress signal, and I—”

“You don't find that in the least bit strange?” You shake your head. “Whatever,” she mutters, staring at the table. “You're his favorite now, I guess. They'd better not cross you, huh?” she adds sarcastically, her face becoming ugly with malice.

You're disgusted by her mockery, but she did defend you, so you can't be too offended at her distaste for Ren. Had he not heroically intervened, and had JA-2917 not been in the vicinity, you'd have been on your own. 

“Thank you for defending me,” you say softly, sincerely. “How did you know I'd be here?”

She attempts a smile. “Lucky guess. But as it turns out, you don't need my help, so I won't be interfering again. Though AS-2259 won't have the balls to try that again. That's one thing about Ren. If he doesn't like something, it simply disappears. You're lucky he sided with you. You're lucky he showed up at all. I've never heard of him breaking up a fight of any kind, with anyone. FM-7283 was bullied for ages at his old position.” She sips at the water you've given her.

“His old position?”

“Yeah. At—” She cuts herself off. “Sorry,” she adds, “I shouldn't talk for a while. My throat hurts. From where your hero choked me.” JA-2917 attempts a smile, but you aren't fooled.

You're sorry she got hurt, but not that sorry. She must have deserved it somehow, the way your attacker did. It's not like Ren choked _you_. “Let's try not to be rain clouds, okay?” you ask gently.

“What? Oh,” she remembers. “Right. Well, let's play some sabacc. That should lighten the mood.”

 

You lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling. You close your eyes, and replay the scene of Ren finding you again and again. You feel your cheeks flush with heat at the image, and project a possible future continuing where Ren's scowling absence left off. He invites you to come with him, and when you're alone in a solitary room somewhere, he removes his helmet; your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to remember what he looks like.

“You're safe now,” he would say to you. “If they come after you again, they'll be sent to reconditioning.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you would reply, and be met with a look of approval.

“You're very important to the plan. Nothing will befall you along the way.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Your mind wanders. You want to know what Ren's touch is like, what his lips feel like. You want to see the tender, honorable man behind the mask—the man who takes time out of his day to save and take care of you, again and again.

You're in deep, you realize suddenly. You feel desire. Does he desire you in return? Anxious, you wish to know. You're sure it would be some breach of the First Order's ethics code, but if he grants it, it's possible.

You shiver. You feel a trickle of wet leave you, and you squirm, feeling your damp panties against your vulva. What if…

You reach down into your pajama pants, under the blanket. You rub yourself through your panties, imagining your hero standing before you, tall and proud, helmet removed, watching you stare. You push your panties down, and caress your wet pussy, bringing slick moisture up to your clit, where you need it.

Two minutes later you're cumming, heat suffusing your entire body, a blissful whisper of Ren's name on your lips.


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up the next morning, well rested, though when you remember what happened the night before, you stare at the floor in embarrassment. What happens if you see Ren again in person? You wish you had a helmet of your own, though Ren himself could surely see through it if he wanted to—figuratively, anyway. You think. 

Either way, you don't want to hide. You want to be noticed. You want his lavish praise, his fondness, his smile. Surely Ren smiles? Maybe, if you keep working hard and behaving admirably, you'll get to see it. 

You see JA-2917 leaving the cafeteria as you enter it, looking hurried. Her throat has been bruised; she looks like she hasn't slept well. You feel a pang of sympathy. It was truly unfortunate that Ren had had to act the way he did. Fortunately, it won't happen again—JA-2917 let you know that the bullies wouldn't be returning. You don't care at all about their welfare, but you'd miss JA-2917 if she were sent away. Hopefully it won't come to that.

You wave to her, and she smiles tightly. You hope she isn't upset with you—it wasn't your fault Ren decided to punish her. 

You enjoy breakfast and then head to your desk. There's a memo in your inbox, and you open it.

_[Greetings. We have received word that Ren's armor has been stolen. If you have information about its whereabouts, please inform your superior officer.]_

You close the message, shaking in your seat. So it _was_ supposed to be in the laundry with the others. _Oh, no._ Will Ren think it was your fault? But surely he can see that you only want to do right by him and his leadership? You anxiously wonder where it could have gone.

You get up and nearly sprint to the laundry room to check. When you get there, keying the door open nervously, you stop in your tracks, staring open-mouthed at what you see. Someone's trashed the laundry room—the baskets are upended, the sinks full of filthy water, uniforms everywhere and stuck to the floor.

Horrified, you think about alerting ES-2213, but then… What if he gets the wrong idea? Could you be reprimanded for something you didn't do? Better to clean it up yourself.

An hour later, everything is back to normal, but you feel tired and discouraged. You didn't find the armor. What will Ren do when he finds out?

“Greetings.”

You freeze. For a few seconds you remain there, as the palpitations of your heart alarmingly vibrate your chest. Then you slowly turn around and—of course, Ren has come at exactly the wrong time for you to deliver the bad news of his armor still being missing.

You salute.

“Whom do you serve?” he asks quietly.

“You, my lord,” you reply obediently. 

“I assume you were at your desk this morning. Care to tell me what you did with my armor?”

You can't see his eyes, but you're sure he's glaring at you behind his mask. “It was missing yesterday, my lord,” you explain, “but I thought perhaps it was still clean and wouldn't be here—”

“Why didn't you report that it was missing?” he demands, advancing toward you.

“I...” You take a step back, shrinking slightly, then to your dismay you bump up against one of the washing machines behind you. Now he's got you cornered. You look up into his mask, praying that he can see your innocence in your mind. “I don't know, my lord. I thought—”

He holds his hand out, and you clutch your throat, gasping. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, from strain, anxiety, shame.

Then he lets you go, and you sink to your knees.

Suddenly, it hits you. This has happened before. He's choked you like this before. He's _tortured_ you—

You curl up, slumped on the floor at Ren's feet. You remember brutal interrogations, being choked, sobbing, with Ren's cries of rage in the background. You scream and start crying, begging Ren not to hurt you as you lie sobbing on the floor.

Minutes go by, as you cry until your entire body aches and you feel nausea. You forget that Ren is there until he clears his throat behind his mask, startling you.

“What? What is it you want, my lord? I'll do it. I'll do anything so long as you never hurt me again,” you sob.

“Stand up,” he instructs, and waits patiently for you to get to your feet. You reach for a paper towel at the sink nearby and blow your nose, in a surreal moment. You feel frozen in time, with Ren standing there in intimidating silence. It's almost comforting—he's there, but he's not attacking or criticizing you. Maybe he really is the hero you hope for him to be. But then… why would he be so cruel?

You dry your eyes and wash your hands, and when you're finished, you return, and bow your head before him.

“Follow me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

You leave the laundry room together, and as you walk, you notice that everyone around you is staring at you, with either hatred or envy. You're uncomfortable, but you're with Ren; clearly you are succeeding where they are failing. You follow him into an elevator, where you are treated to the bizarre and unlikely experience of going somewhere with Ren as though you are truly his guest.

You exit and he lets you into a room with him. It's dark, with black walls and less intense lighting, and you're surprised to see chairs—comfortable ones, softer and more cushioned than any you're used to. You blush suddenly. Are you in Ren's quarters with him? You take a look around, but all you can see are the two chairs.

“Sit down,” he orders, and you do so. To your astonishment, he sits in front of you, then reaches up to remove his mask with a hiss. 

You gasp, watching, holding your breath as the light hits his face. Oh, his face—you'd forgotten. You work to memorize it as you take him in—pale, soft skin, deep brown soulful eyes with enviable intensity, strong jaw and nose, soft lips. Ren is beautiful, a work of art, a glorious hero— _your_ hero.

He looks you over, and you feel your heart beat faster. So this is what his face looks like in motion; those eyes, and the serious brow furrowing make him seem so intense even without the regalia. You suddenly hunger to see more of his body, then blush down your neck as you remember that he can read your mind. 

Seconds go by, and he's still staring. Then he gets to his feet, and down on one knee. The seat you're in is low enough that he is your height while kneeling. Ren leans closer, and your eyelids flutter shut. You wish he would kiss you. You must look so foolish. You open your eyes, and he's still studying you. If you think hard enough, will he touch you? Didn't he do it once, a long time ago?

“It seems that you're remembering things,” he says, almost to himself. He's looking at you like a repair technician would study the inside of a computer terminal.

“Yes, my lord. Horrible things. Did you really hurt me?” you ask, feeling very young and afraid.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he holds out his hand. Your eyes stay open, searching his face for the truth as he keeps looking curiously at you. Then he lets his arm fall to his side.

You begin to panic slightly. Does he not like you? Why won't he touch you? Doesn't he know how much you admire him? Is he not listening?

“I'm listening,” he calmly interrupts, and you let out a little yelp of surprise.

“My lord—I'm sorry—” you protest, blushing furiously, bowing your head. “I'm being impertinent.”

“It's not a concern,” he replies evenly, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Then, in a spectacular betrayal, your mind recalls the previous night, when you masturbated to Ren. Horror causes your chest to sink into your gut. “My lord—I can explain—”

“Shh.” He ceases his study and reaches his hand out again, this time to meet the center of your forehead with his fingertips.

You sigh with pleasure. He's finally touching you, and it feels so good. You feel something flowing from his fingers into your face, into your head, into your mind. You calm down, breathing slower now, as you slip into a trance.

“These concerns you have… they burden you. Let them go.”

His deep voice washes over you, taking on an ethereal quality. You feel at peace, whole, in a way you've never been before. His presence in your mind is right and just. If only you could feel more of him, see a little of who he is.

“Let them go,” you repeat softly, and feel your concerns falling away, leaving your mind and then your body. 

“Remember only me.”

“Remember only you,” you breathe. Your eyes are closed, and you're imagining him, dreaming of his skin—his soft lips on your cheek, his hair between your fingers, his body above yours. You imagine kissing him, feeling surrounded by his strong arms. You're at home. You're safe with him.

“That's right,” he encourages, and draws his hand back.

You feel calm, languid, drowsy. You don't want to awaken from this dream, this dream where Ren is touching you so tenderly.

But your eyes open, and you see that once again, he's seated across from you.

“How do you feel, MA-3425?”

“Wonderful, my lord,” you breathe. _Won't you come closer?_ you want to ask, but can't.

“Good.” He stands, and motions for you to stand as well, though you wobble slightly on your feet. “Return to your duties as assigned. The armor will be found. Don't concern yourself with it any longer.”

He lets you out of the room, directs you to the sector's checkpoint, then waits for you to leave. You truly, truly want to stay with him, to be in that dream state just a little while longer, but it's time to go back.

As you stand in the laundry room scrubbing blood from someone's coveralls, your mind wanders. You feel calm and at peace, confident in your abilities. You're sure that you can handle yourself better now.

You shiver suddenly. Will good behavior be rewarded with more touching? Are there cameras in the laundry room? you wonder. You're wet beneath your clothes, and can still feel Ren's fingers on your forehead.

You dig around, wondering if… yes, there they are. These are his. You know now. You lift his shirt to your face again and breathe deeply. You long to take it home with you, to breathe him in as you touch yourself, on your back with your legs spread wide, his shirt covering your nose and mouth. 

And then you see them—Ren's undergarments.

You _can't_ —it's improper—

You pick them up without your gloves on. They're soft, worn in and cozy. You imagine the way they must feel against naked skin, and squirm hesitantly. Though you desire Ren, the thought of physical intimacy is overwhelming—not to mention impossible.

Even so… You close your eyes and bring his underwear to your nose. Heat suffuses your face, and you become uncomfortable and aroused. On the one hand, the way he smells is intoxicating. On the other, he's having them washed for a reason.

Perhaps you'll someday get to experience them firsthand. You're greedy. It will never happen—and yet, he _did_ touch you today. It wasn't much, but…

Shaking it off, you go back to your duties and return to your desk. There are no new messages.

You glance up, and notice that everyone seems standoffish, possibly even hostile. You try to smile at people, but they either ignore you, or glare back. What's wrong with them? You've barely even met most of them.

Whatever, you think to yourself. You don't need their approval.

You spend some time going over some of the information JA-2917 wanted you to learn, just in case you're called to perform some of her duties. Maybe she'll need your help, and you can aid her and make her like you again. You feel a bit bad—you don't want to get anyone in trouble, and you certainly don't want Ren to walk in on someone arguing with you. You're possibly his most ardent admirer, but you believe him when he says that to fight someone is a violation of his orders. It would be only fair for such a policy to apply to you as well.

You sit at your usual table for lunch; JA-2917 doesn't show, but FM-7283 sits down across from you wordlessly. You look up and smile. He tries to smile back, but it doesn't feel natural. Maybe he's still upset from before. It seems like everyone is upset lately.

“Hi,” you greet, taking a bite of your mashed root vegetables.

“Hello,” he sulks.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah. I'm fine. Nothing new to report,” he adds, in what is clearly frustration and hurt. Then he continues furtively. “Has Ren come to talk to you again?”

“Me?” You blush. “Well...” You remember the scene in the rec center, and decide against telling FM-7283 about it. You're not in the mood for potential histrionics. “No, I can't say that he has.”

He sighs with relief. “I was beginning to think you were the only person getting noticed.” He takes a bite of his bread roll.

“Oh, I'm sure I'm not,” you reassure him brightly, though you have to admit to yourself that the idea makes jealousy clench in your throat.

“What are you doing in training nowadays?” Sandy hair falls into his eyes as he leans down to wipe his mouth on his napkin.

“Uh, it's probably classified. I can look and see for sure though, and then maybe we can talk about it.” It's a half-truth—you probably aren't at liberty to discuss it, but either way, you don't think FM-7283 would handle it well. From how the training is going, they might have a mission planned for you—and as soon as other people find out, there will be discontent. 

Well. Perhaps they should work and study harder. It's not as though Ren plays favorites. 

Does he?

You blush again, and as you notice FM-7283 is staring at you, you quickly hide behind your napkin, followed by your glass of water. 

He seems half-satisfied with your reply, from his look of slightly mollified understanding. You wish you had something else to talk about. You feel like you know barely anyone around you, you realize. Everyone's been busy, and some people aren't interested in making friends with anyone.

“How are your duties?” you ask in an attempt to distract him from your physical reactions to your feelings for Ren. “I… I don't think I've ever actually asked you what you do.”

“I wash dishes and cut up vegetables for the officer's cafeteria,” he explains, with a disheartened feeling in his voice. “It's… okay. I was hoping for something a little more high level after my transfer.”

You nod. “I see.”

“What is it that you do? I don't think I've asked you either,” he realizes, and continues eating as he listens.

“Well, right now I'm part of Ren's assistance staff, I have a desk, and I do laundry.” You pause. “To be honest, I'm not even sure why I have a desk. I don't have much time to spend at it. Maybe they already have a promotion path laid out for me,” you finish brightly.

FM-7283 is less than pleased. “So you're doing some special training and you have a desk, yet you're a laundry operator?” 

“Yes,” you reply. He looks downtrodden. “But think—maybe you could be like this too. If I'm being given opportunities above my station, it stands to reason that you could, too.”

He looks hopeful then, and you think that maybe you've hit on something that could improve your relationship. Maybe, if you give him hope, he won't be so down.

“It's not possible,” he says sadly. “I had a station, and I lost it.” He looks confused. “Though I don't remember exactly how. Only that it happened.”

“You could be given a new one.”

He attempts a smile. “I'll try, I guess. But whatever seems to be special about you… none of us have it.”

“What do you mean?” You've never thought of yourself as particularly special.

“Never mind,” he mutters.

You're a bit put out. You sigh and push your food around your plate with your fork. “Let's not think about duties right now,” you suggest. “Do you have any hobbies? What's your favorite food? Do you watch holonet programs?”

“Well, I… I really like the look of this one meat dish I see being made for the officer's cafeteria, but I've never gotten to try it. Maybe someday,” he adds, seeming uplifted. 

“Yes, that's exactly it. Think of your goals and hold them close to your heart,” you encourage brightly.

“Can I sit here with you?” asks a familiar voice, and you look up to see JA-2917.

“Of course,” you reply, and she sits down next to FM-7283 on the bench. “How is your day going?”

She huffs a sigh. “Fine.” Turning to FM-7283, she begins again. “How are you feeling? I haven't seen you in a while.”

You chew thoughtfully, watching both of them.

“Better, but discouraged,” he admits. “It's just...” He trails off and leans to whisper in JA-2917's ear.

You're annoyed that they suddenly can't speak frankly in front of you, but you keep it to yourself. They continue in hushed voices, and it reminds you of when you were a child, sitting in the corner of the junior First Order rec center as all of your peers passed over you to speak with each other instead. You felt terribly lonely then, but you have Ren on your side now. 

However, having to pretend that it's not strange to see adults whisper around you, presumably about you, still hurts.

They finish their conversation, and FM-7283 gets to his feet. “I'm sorry, MA-3425. I have to go back to work. Let's go running on the track together sometime. You're still exercising for training, right?''

“Yeah,” you reply half-heartedly. He leaves without saying goodbye.

JA-2917 turns to you. “I've been meaning to ask you something. Please don't be alarmed. Nothing is wrong. I'm just curious.”

Your eyes narrow. You aren't sure of her intentions, but she did intervene in a fight for you, so perhaps you owe her one.

“Okay,” you reply hesitantly.

“Do you remember graduation, and your exams?”

You pause and reflect. “It was a bit of a whirlwind. I know Ren was there, and I passed, and we were all very excited to be done with our education. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it's just that I graduated a long time ago and I wasn't sure if anything about the ceremony has changed. It was recent, right?” She's searching your face.

You aren't sure what she's up to, but she isn't asking anything suspicious, so you continue. “I think so. I'm older than I should be, but I graduated with this most recent class.”

“Do you know why you're older than the others?” She has a slice of dessert pastry in front of her, and begins eating it as you talk. 

“No,” you admit. “I guess that's kind of strange, isn't it? Oh well, maybe they held me back.”

“You don't remember?” She sounds surprised.

“I… no, I don't.” You're puzzled. “But it doesn't matter now,” you add cheerfully. “No matter how low I was in the past, I'm succeeding now. That's what matters.”

She nods slowly. “It's good that you're so optimistic,” she says. “Those jerks who were rude the other night are just jealous. They're notoriously bad students. Don't worry about them.”

You're surprised that JA-2917 is bringing it up—you can still see the bruises on her neck—but you decide to forgive her. Clearly she isn't holding Ren's punishment against you. “Yeah.”

“So tell me,” she continues. “What were your favorite subjects in basic education?”

“Are you a teacher?” you ask.

“No, but I'm considering pursuing any opportunities that open. I want to be well-rounded and I think they might want someone there who can help transition new graduates into Ren's service.” She sips at her caf.

“Oh. Well...” That's odd, you think. Why can't you remember any of your favorite subjects? “I can't think of any at the moment, but I can let you know if I think of one later.”

She nods.

“Why are you asking me all this?” You search her green eyes for clarity.

“I worry about you,” she admits. “If there are medical anomalies, they could make it harder for you. Memory problems could compromise your future missions.” 

“I'll keep that in mind,” you suggest, warily.

“No need to worry. I'm just asking as a friend. If you feel unwell, go to the medical bay.” She finishes her dessert, then gets to her feet. “Your training is probably strenuous. Be sure to take good care of yourself. I'll see you later.” She leaves, giving you a long look.

“Bye,” you reply, disinterestedly, and try to ignore the suspicion gnawing at you in your gut. But then, what could there be to be suspicious about? The subjects she brought up are innocent enough.

You arrive for training, and it goes well—you're not nearly as clumsy, and your increased exercise regimen has gained you strength. When you leave, exhausted, sweaty and victorious, your superior commends your performance and sends you on your way.

You shower and decide to stay in. Lately, socialization has been leaving you empty. You go into your room, drying your hair with your towel, and sit on the edge of your bed, thinking. Should you have known the answers to her questions?

What happened since this morning, you wonder? The laundry room was a mess, you remember that, and you went to clean it up. Then Ren came, and… You breathe in deep, calling to mind the image of his masked face. Did he take the mask off? You close your eyes and recall that yes, he did—and he touched your forehead, soothing you with his Force power. Perhaps you had become upset that the laundry room was trashed, and he brought you to that quiet room to comfort you. It seems in line with his behavior as of late—breaking up fights for you, giving you training, checking up on your health.

What sort of power did he use on you? It must be too complex for you to understand. Then you remember the documents given to you at the safety training; they included a small pamphlet about the Force that you never got to read. You get to your feet, opening the drawer to your bedside table and pulling out your training materials. With a nervous feeling in your chest, you open the pamphlet.

You're immediately hooked—it's full of anecdotes of Ren's power displays, and some archive materials from the Galactic Empire. You sit up in bed with it, a pillow between your back and the wall, and read ravenously. You knew that Ren could read minds—you blush suddenly as you remember the times he'd found out things you hadn't wanted him to know—but not some of these other things.

You lay back against the wall, closing your eyes. You imagine Ren sitting cross-legged, his posture perfectly straight, unmasked, his eyes closed. You've never meditated before—maybe you should start now. You open your posture, breathing in and out slowly. You allow your body to relax, settling and sinking into the comfort around you. In your mind's eye, you see Ren meditating in front of you, the two of you in a closed room, sitting across from each other. He's dressed in soft, loose clothing, not his usual regalia, and even though you're trying to synchronize with his body, you can't help but steal a glance at him, at his strange, captivating face and soft dark hair.

Then you return to your meditative state, hoping that somehow you can communicate with him through the Force. You're not “Force-sensitive” as the literature describes, but perhaps he can hear you anyway. 

You blush, feeling the heat tingle all the way down the front of your body. You're grateful you're alone—surely this kind of behavior and thought would otherwise be humiliating.

_My lord,_ your mind whispers, as you inhale. _Teach me. Make me more like you._ Then you exhale, pushing out all of your worries, your dark thoughts about your comrades, your suspicions.

_I need you,_ you add, softly. A breath passes between your lips. _I need you._ You feel it in your whole body, from the slow, rhythmic beating of your heart to the goosebumps scattering across your skin, to the way you feel yourself heat up between your thighs.

You remain that way for almost an hour, but Ren never replies.

You try not to let your disappointment crush you.

You go to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

As you sit down in the cafeteria with your caf and breakfast, an unfamiliar person makes her way over to you.

“Hey,” she greets. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure,” you say, looking her over as she sits down. She's younger than you; you realize only now that JA-2917 and FM-7283 are either your age or older. How long have they been with Ren? How long were they… wherever they were before?

Starkiller? Didn't JA-2917 say Starkiller? But then… how…?

“I've heard stories about you,” your new companion adds excitedly.

“You have?” You feel uneasy, but at least she seems happy about it.

“Of course,” she exclaims. “You're MA-3425. Everyone wants to be you, don't they?”

She must be a junior member, you decide. Such youthful naivete. “I don't know about that, but yes, that's me.” You take a sip of caf and look into her brown eyes. “What sort of things do people say about me?” you ask curiously, keeping your tone light and pleasant, even though on the inside you're a pit of uncertainty, perhaps even suspicion. 

“Oh, that you're Ren's favorite, mostly,” she gushes, scooping her eggs into the river of spicy sauce that has taken over her plate and shoveling them into her mouth. “People tell stories about his heroic feats. I wish I could meet him,” she adds wistfully, staring off into a corner of the room with a slight pout.

“Oh, I'm sure you will someday,” you assure her. “However, I don't think I'm his favorite. I've made too many mistakes for that,” you realize, sadly.

“Maybe he just likes you anyway,” she says cheerfully. “Does Ren like people? People say that he's not very nice. But if I was a hero, I'd want to be nice to everyone.” She looks puzzled.

“Well, people aren't always telling the truth. Ren always treats me well.” You take a bite of your toast.

“Hey, what happened to your neck?” she asks innocently, pointing.

“Hmm?”

“Your neck. It's bruised.” She pauses, then giggles. “Have you been kissing people?!”

Definitely a junior member then, you think with a smile; then the smile drops off your face immediately. Your neck? Bruised?

You feel your body go cold. “Well, there was one person,” you lie, feigning shyness. “But I don't kiss and tell.” You finish eating and get to your feet. You're anxious to look in a mirror. “I have to go attend to my duties. It was nice meeting you.” 

She waves, and you walk briskly to the women's refresher in the cafeteria. You walk up to the mirror, for a second squeezing your eyes shut before opening them to examine your neck. 

You gasp. She's right—you've been bruised, one small bruise on one side of your neck and a larger one on the other. What could it mean? Were you injured during training? But you don't remember anything happening to your neck.

For the first time, you feel afraid. You've been hurt somehow, with no clue whatsoever into what happened or who could have done it. 

Maybe JA-2917 was right. Maybe you _do_ have memory problems. 

Feeling sick, you decide to seek her out. If someone's hurt you, you need to know. You need to tell Ren. Fighting is treason—

You do laundry and train, doing your best to keep your mind off of your injury, but it's nearly impossible. You pay attention to the physical motions you go through while fighting and parrying, but none of them could possibly have caused this type of bruising.

Later that night, you eat dinner alone; JA-2917 is nowhere to be found. You feel nauseous. You'd been hoping to speak to her, to be reassured that everything was all right and your neck was like that from some silly thing you'd forgotten about.

You're tempted to go home and hide, but you instead head to the rec center. You walk in through the secure metal doorway only to find that it's deserted; the only people in the room are the junior First Order member attending the front desk and a pair of young men playing analog chess in complete and serious silence. The attendant greets you pleasantly, but you decide not to sit down.

Where is everyone, you wonder?

Ah, you realize. This must be the news hour. You're usually showering at this time of day or taking your time at dinner. You decide to figure out where the media room is. You learned about them during your education, as well as the importance of staying well informed. You realize then that this part of your mission preparedness has been lacking. Fortunately, all of the transmissions are available for review, if you ever wanted to spend an entire day off watching events you've missed.

You find the room and enter; you look for chairs but find all of them full. There's a large screen on one of the walls that provides the backdrop for the holo image sequence your peers are watching. You decide to stand in the back, crossing your arms and tugging up the neckline of your off-duty shirt in an attempt to cover the bruises.

_[First Order defector is still at large somewhere in the galaxy]_ , you see in scrolling text on the bottom of the screen.

Your eyes widen. A defector? Who? But why? How could anyone do such a thing? Tears spring to your eyes at once. So your superior officer was right. Defectors _do_ exist and are in our midst at any moment. You feel a crushing weight on your heart and continue to watch in horror, but the news program ends without any additional information. Perhaps you missed it—have they covered this topic before?

Shaken, you return to your apartment, undressing to shower and cringing again at the bruises on your neck. How did they get there? 

What else happened? When did Ren touch you? Do you remember anyone else who could have been around?

You step into the shower cubicle, shivering and uncomfortable. The heat warms you up, and as you soap up you search the rest of your body for other signs of harm, but find none. It was just your neck, then. Did someone hit you? Did they try to grab you from behind?

The laundry room was trashed, then Ren found you, and the next thing you remember is him touching you in that private, secret room. As you cry softly, you wish desperately that he could comfort you and assure you that your attacker would be dealt with.

Suddenly, you remember—Ren said not to worry about something. Armor? His lost armor. Oh! Maybe whoever stole the armor also attacked you! That would make sense—you were very shaken by the event, which is why he had to calm you down.

So in that case, who did it? Your hands are in your hair, shampoo dripping from your head, and they tighten, your fingers curling until they ball into fists.

Whoever they are, they'll pay.

 

Days pass. You awaken, you eat alone, you do laundry, you train. You come home, you shower, you stretch for an hour in an attempt to soothe sore, burning muscles and bruises all over from the strenuous drills and matches. Your superior officer had told you that you were on an advanced regimen, but you'd had no idea how advanced until you began.

With each passing day, your peers grow more and more cold and defensive. As you check your inbox every morning, you attempt to say hello to them, but you're met with nothing but silence. Your resolve tightens. They're meaningless. Only you have been chosen for Ren's campaign, whatever it is. Only you are worthy.

Worthiness, however, is exhausting—and lonely. You haven't been to the rec center in weeks. You've eaten alone for the most part; sometimes FM-7283 or JA-2917 show, but the meal is mostly eaten in silence. They don't trust you, you've realized—and you don't trust them. It weighs on you; it makes you wonder if you aren't actually the one doing something wrong. After all, it looks like everyone is against you. 

Everyone but Ren—yet you haven't seen _him_ recently, either. You've been so lonely; you've begun a meditation regimen, and every night you go home and sit and try to contact him. Your efforts have been futile, however. He's never responded, not even once. You wonder if he even cares anymore. But then, why would he keep training you if he didn't?

Maybe you should go seek him out. It's a crazy, potentially dangerous thought, but maybe it will show him how much you care. He's risked the disdain of your peers by protecting you—maybe you could do something for him in return.

For two days you try to track where he comes and goes, yet it's no easy feat. You don't have much time to spend looking, and the majority of his time is spent in classified and guarded sectors of the _Finalizer_. Yet on the third day, you're lucky—you see Ren leaving the officers' cafeteria, the one FM-7283 works at. You furtively look for him, but he must not be on duty, thankfully. You don't want any of your peers finding out about your plan. 

Ren walks at a brisk pace, combat boots heavy on the durasteel floor. You hope it covers your own footfalls as you follow him, trying to keep your distance while keeping an eye on him and on your surroundings.

Looking ahead, you see him turn a corner, and you sneak up to it. You flatten yourself against the wall, then slowly peer around the corner—

—only to find that Ren has stopped and is standing right there, with his arms folded in front of him.

You let out a little yelp of surprise and salute.

“What is it?” he demands, voice blunt but not angry. He bends slightly at the waist, then unfolds his arms crossly, standing with them wide apart. It looks almost like he's ready for a fight.

“My lord,” you begin, and cringe as his hands slowly tighten into fists.

“What is so important that it requires a breach of protocol, MA-3425?” His voice sounds almost sensual, coming through his mask like that. 

You stand up tall and try to be brave. “I… was wondering...” Your voice falters and your heart races to the point of physical pain. In sudden panic, you worry that you might collapse.

“What?” he demands again; you open your mouth but are unable to speak.

Ren sighs, then holds out one hand, slipping into your mind. Your eyes close, your body frozen in time even as you're aware of your heartbeat. You realize then that whatever it is you're doing is entirely foolish—going up to Ren to ask him… what, exactly? You hadn't gotten that far.

He's in your mind now, you can feel it, feel him and his mysterious Force pushing and prodding at your thoughts, rifling through them like a deck of sabacc cards. You hear him breathe through his mask slightly, then he pulls his hand back.

Silence. Your heart is pounding hard enough to make you dizzy.

“What makes you think your company is worth my time, MA-3425?” he asks flatly, withdrawing his hand from where it had nearly touched your face. 

“My lord,” you protest, and notice that there's a bit of a crowd in the room; it's evident that many of the officers and troopers are coming and going multiple times in order to get a good look and listen to your conversation. Your cheeks go hot. You admire Ren—well, perhaps more than admire him. So what? It's none of their business.

Ren seems to have noticed them too, because he pauses before speaking. “We can discuss this breach of protocol in my office at 2000 hours this evening,” he finishes curtly. Then he gives you a long look, head tilting down to your level, and turns and stalks away.

You press yourself against the other wall again and inhale as though you've been holding your breath. Did… did you just manage to get an appointment with Ren? Is this a date? Are you in trouble? You don't seem to be—he seemed mildly annoyed at worst. Have you succeeded then?

Does he… like you?

You straighten up and hurry back to your post.

When your training session is finished, you check the clock readout on your comm and go to take a shower. You spend a little extra time getting clean, then head to the cafeteria for dinner before you're scheduled to meet him.

FM-7283 sees you, waves, and sits down. “Hi,” he greets, shyly and somewhat awkwardly. Which seems appropriate, given that he's barely said a word to you in several weeks.

“Hello,” you respond cordially, noting the unintentional stiff formality in your tone. You feel a bit bad, but he brought it on himself. There was no need for the two of them to be immature gossips the last time the three of you ate together. 

“How have you been?” he asks, looking at your face, then letting his gaze fall to your shoulders. “You're in good shape. Whatever training you're doing is paying off.”

Is this his way of pretending he hasn't ignored you? You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Yes, it has. I feel stronger, too.” You choose not to elaborate; he can drown in his curiosity if he so wishes. “How have you been?”

“All right,” he sighs, and you notice he's taken rather a few too many desserts tonight. Perhaps he's had a stressful day. “I… didn't qualify for a promotion I've been seeking,” he adds glumly. “I do everything they ask...” He takes a bite of whatever creamy food he's selected.

In the past you might have encouraged him, but now, all you have is pity. You're succeeding; he's failing. There's nothing you can do.

“Sorry to hear that,” you reply, though you certainly don't sound sorry, and you feel bad again.

“You're doing well,” he mutters. “Want to share the secret with me? I've been here for years and I'm still doing the same entry-level work I got after graduation. I can't remember ever doing anything else, not even as an internship.” He's getting tense, you notice, and eating faster as though it will calm him down.

“There is no secret,” you snap. “If you've come to feel sorry for yourself or shame me into feeling bad for succeeding, I don't need your company.”

He looks taken aback, and you see his eyes water slightly. “I'm sorry,” he says, bowing his head, fighting back tears.

The tension and anger in your chest evaporate. “I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to snap. It's just… No one trusts me, and it gets lonely,” you admit. “I never wanted to be so distant from people. When I graduated, the first thing I wanted to do was make friends. I didn't realize it was going to be so hard.”

He looks a bit sad, as though that thought hadn't occurred to him. “Then let's play holochess tonight,” he suggests.

“I can't,” you realize, remembering your… appointment.

“Why not?”

“I… I'm tired. Can we do it tomorrow?”

“Sure.” You're not sure if he believes you, but he sounds sincere enough. You would like to play holochess with him; your game nights have been a bit dramatic, but it feels like the two of you have smoothed over any issues. Mostly.

“Is training super tiring?” he asks, and you raise an eyebrow. What kind of question is that?

“Yes, I'm especially weary today. We, um, went up a weight class.” It dawns on you that you apparently are a terrible liar.

He seems to have swallowed it, though. “Well, I hope it goes well for you.”

You finish your meals in silence, and he leaves, but at least he says goodbye this time.

You wait a little longer at your table, nervous energy prickling the nerves at your extremities. Then when 1945 hours hits, you get up and make your way back to the sector with Ren's office in it. You don't want to be late.

You wait anxiously outside the wing of rooms, a blast door protecting a sea of other closed doors. The large one at the end of the hall is Ren's, you remember, from when he called you in here to discuss your failure at your laundry duties. You shiver. You don't want to think about that right now.

The door opens five minutes early, and you hear loud footsteps coming down the hall toward you. You try to suck air into your lungs. What on earth are you doing here?

The blast door opens with a hiss and mechanical grinding. You look up into the opening hallway and see Ren standing there in full regalia. Your cheeks go hot.

“My lord,” you greet, saluting.

“Come with me,” he greets ominously, and you follow him to the room at the end of the hall, his inner sanctum.

You look around, noting how large the room is. The first time you were in here, you were too nervous to pay much attention. There's a large table in the middle of the room; everything is black, with some clear data screens that occasionally flash colored words and numbers. He's left a datapad on one of the other tables at the edge of the room. So even mysterious, powerful Kylo Ren has need of technology on occasion. 

“Sit down.” It's an order, but his voice is calm. You do so, politely folding your hands in your lap, doing your best to straighten your posture. He sits across from you, hunched over the table, thick arms crossed near the edge. You wish he'd take the mask off so you could read his face, but you'll just have to be brave and hope for the best.

“Why is it that you felt the need to follow me today?” he asks evenly. 

You blush nervously. He's found you out. “I...” You swallow. You might as well be honest. “I… wished to see you, my lord.”

“Really?” He doesn't sound like he believes you. “For what purpose?”

“I...” You bow your head. “My lord… I know the purpose of my training is classified—”

“Yes, it is,” he interrupts.

You cringe, but keep going. “Well… the others are growing resentful. What must I do? I think they hate me,” you babble, and feel tears creeping up the back of your throat. _Oh, no. Not now._ You can't cry in front of Ren. Why are you even telling him all this, anyway?

“Their opinions are irrelevant,” he says automatically. “Have there been any more fights?”

“No, my lord. It's just… gossip and I feel so lonely and no one will talk to me—”

You stop suddenly, as his hands reach up to remove his helmet. Your mouth falls open and you gasp. Here it comes, his face, his glorious face—

—it's captivating as always, hair that's been mussed inside the helmet, soft lips, sharp chin and nose. His face is expressionless. He seems to be watching you react. You realize you've been breathing hard with your mouth open. What is _wrong_ with you?

“Your behavior is puzzling,” he begins, and you shiver all over at the sound of his voice. _Please,_ you think to yourself. _Please, talk to me. I'm so lonely._ “Are your feelings on this matter clear? You're well aware that the only purpose for fraternization is to boost morale. The more friendships you hope to obtain, the more you'll lose later on when your peers fulfill their destinies with the First Order.” 

Your feelings? Clear? You have no idea what he's talking about. “I… I suppose so, my lord.”

“Forget them,” he says softly. “Close your eyes.”

You do so, and lose your breath as you feel the Force flowing into you—not just into your mind, but across your skin, like a cold wind. You feel cold, and your mind turns blank, emptied of its stress and worry. All that's left is your longing for Ren, and what might be the beginnings of physical arousal.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “How do you feel?”

“Empty,” you reply without thinking. “Alone. I… I need something.” Your eyes remain closed.

“Keep going,” he adds, presumably still watching your face.

“I'm cold,” you whisper, and the wind across your skin slows, then stops. To your disappointment, the sweeping sensation against your cheeks and neck and arms stops as well, and you wish you hadn't said anything.

“What else?”

“I want to forget,” you realize suddenly, your voice a bit louder than you intended.

“Forget what? Open your eyes,” he urges, and you open them to see him searching your face, betraying subtle emotion. You're not sure what he means, but he's staring at you. He wants you. Does he want you? “What do you want to forget?”

You let out a long sigh. “Everything but you… my lord.”

The smallest of curves touches the corner of his lips. “That's right. Good.”

He holds out his hand, goes to use the Force, but you reach up and take it without thinking, your hands clasped around his, and he looks at you with surprise—surprise, not anger.

“I need you,” you blurt out, those tears clutching the back of your throat again.

“Do you?” He doesn't try to pull his hand back.

“Yes, my lord, I do,” you exclaim, and he stands up, breaking your contact.

“Do you truly, truly need me?” he asks, voice a little hoarse, out of breath.

“Yes,” you vow, standing up with him, darting around the table, gazing up at him, hoping, waiting.

He grips your face tightly in one hand and pulls you toward him, leaning down to press his plush lips against your own.

Your face dissolves into emotion, electricity, rapture—he's kissing you, Ren is kissing you, warm and soft, though his hand on your face is a little harsh. You don't care. You need him. How far will he go?

You step forward and throw your arms around him, awkwardly weaving them through the layers of clothing he wears, as they get a little lost. He indulges your embrace, but to your dismay, doesn't reciprocate it. Why? Why won't he hold you?

He must be able to hear you—he pulls you in with one arm, answering your prayer. You open your mouth, and he allows you to taste him, tongue soft against your own yet with altogether too much teeth.

Then he breaks the kiss, and you gasp for breath, gazing up at him, hoping against hope that he'll do it again.

However, he lets go of you, and you let go, reluctantly, as he sees you to the door.

“If you wish for another… breach of protocol,” he says, “come find me next week. And keep meditating. You're almost good at it.” 

“Yes, my lord,” you breathe, and give him one last forlorn look as you leave him.

You exit the sector, find a women's refresher, and enter one of the stalls, sitting down fully clothed as you break down and sob.


	8. Chapter 8

When you're unable to cry anymore, you get up, blow your nose, wash your hands and leave. You have no idea what time it is when you get home; the first thing you do is get into your pajamas and sit up in bed. You try to meditate, but your focus breaks every time you think of Ren. Does he like you? Does he want you? Your eyes well up again. You're so lonely—

—but then, that kiss… He kissed you, he hushed your worries away with the Force. He took up your invitation. He took time out of his day for you.

Next week, he said?

Giving up on meditation, you get under the covers and sleep.

The next morning, you're checking your messages at your desk when JA-2917 comes up to you. You look up, startled; you'd forgotten that she worked on the other side of the hall. You don't see her leave that room much anymore.

“Could you come with me? I need to show you how to reset the control modules just in case you have to do it by yourself sometime,” she explains.

You nod, surprised; she's never come and gotten you on duty before. Is this part of your development path, then? You feel upbeat, even as you try to not notice how stressed JA-2917 looks. 

She lets you into her office and shuts the door. “Sit down. I need to talk to you.”

“What's wrong?” you ask, concerned.

“I saw you last night,” she says, rearranging her desk so you can sit on the other side of it, across from her. She sounds worried.

“Last night?” You feel nerves and embarrassment wash from your hairline to your chest. _Oh, no._ Did she see you coming out of Ren's office? Did she see or hear anything? But no, that's not possible. It was behind a checkpoint. Is JA-2917's security clearance that high?

“You came out of Sector 30 and looked like you'd been crying. Are those creeps still bullying you?” she asks, a little too loudly. “I'll talk to them. Hell, I'll even take a leaf out of your book and talk to Ren about them. He said it's treason.”

At the sound of his name your face and chest go hot. Your lips part to take in air.

“MA-3425?” she asks, and you snap out of it.

“I'm sorry,” you say hurriedly. “I've been tired. No. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. More than fine. Don't worry about me.”

She nods hesitantly, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you declare. “Please don't tell anybody.”

“Tell anybody what?” You hear a note of alarm in her voice.

“That… that you saw me there. And that I was crying. It's… training related. I'm not supposed to tell anyone. But I'm fine. I promise.” You ignore the emotion in the back of your throat.

“Okay,” she agrees, but it's clear from her tone that she doesn't like it. “That's all I wanted to ask.”

“You don't need help with the control modules?”

“What? Oh, no. You're not at that level yet. I just didn't know when I'd be able to check up on you next because of our duty schedules. But here, I can give you a tutorial on something else instead.” She calls you over to her side of the desk.

You don't retain much information, but you're touched that she seems to care about you. It gives you hope—even though you're not seeing anyone regularly anymore, people do care.

Ren most certainly cares.

You shiver again as you close JA-2917's office door behind you, and head to the laundry room, with sudden remembrance of what Ren's lips felt like against your own.

As you empty the baskets and collect the dirty uniforms and coveralls, your heart races—you're looking for Ren's garments, the treasure amid the mess of dirt, blood, engine oil and sweat. You get on your knees, crawling around on the floor as you sift through everything, until you find them with a triumphant cry. A pair of soft pants, a t-shirt, several tank style undershirts, a few pairs of underwear, a smattering of socks. Looks like these are a mix of things he wears at home and things he wears under his armor.

You examine them and find them to be free of any of the more hazardous materials present in the surrounding laundry—they've been protected, wedged in between some clean uniforms in good condition. Then you take off your gloves and feel the silky fabric of his worn-in shirts and underwear. You breathe him in, the scent of his body comforting you to the deepest parts of your being. Arousal lights a trail from your face down to your groin.

You need him. You need to take one of these garments with you. The thought of going home without one makes you sick to your stomach.

So against your better judgment, you set aside one of his undershirts. He won't miss one of these, right? It smells so strongly of him, like he's worn it for several days, or possibly slept in it. You wonder how long the scent will last when it's stashed in your bed, perhaps near your pillow as you sleep.

You can't believe you're doing this. Won't he notice? Won't he get angry?

He kissed you. Surely the rules have changed now.

You finish the laundry and fold the shirt delicately, stuffing it inside your uniform jacket. You'll take a trip home and put it away before anyone sees you with it.

After an enjoyable meal, you meet up with FM-7283 in the rec center. You'd gone to the media room for a while, but nothing new was said about the defector. You're disappointed and relieved at the same time—on the one hand, you want him found, and you almost want to be the one who finds him. On the other, you're still not done with your training.

FM-7283 has reserved a table for both of you already, and you go to meet him in the back. There's a sad smile on his face; he hasn't noticed you yet, and something off in the distance seems to have caught his eye. How did he get so sad? Is it really just that he's feeling bad about not getting promoted? 

What was his past like? He said he lost his old station. What did he do, you wonder? Did he fail? Did he lie or cheat or act insubordinately? Is he a traitor?

No, you reason. If he were a traitor he'd be dead.

He's spotted you now, waving you over, and you put your thoughts aside for the moment. There's no need to be suspicious, you remind yourself. Your peers are committed to the First Order. FM-7283 works tirelessly without recognition, and JA-2917 works so hard she's irritable and doesn't sleep enough. Their envy of you doesn't matter. They must remain in line or they'll be reconditioned or destroyed.

But still, it wouldn't hurt to keep both eyes open. They trust you. If they plan to commit treason, you'd know, and you'd be ready to turn them in to Ren.

And receive whatever… reward he'd bestow upon you for their capture.

“MA-3425,” FM-7283 shouts, and you blink. He's still waving, and you've been standing there in the middle of the room, daydreaming.

“Hi, I'm sorry,” you rush to say. “There's been a lot on my mind lately. What do you want to play tonight?”

“There's been a lot on your mind in general,” he points out, and it feels like an accusation.

You glare at him. “I am _not_ here to argue with you tonight. I'm perfectly happy to go home and meditate in silence without you.” You cross your arms petulantly.

“Meditate?” He looks surprised; it's beat out all other emotions on his face. “And… I'm sorry, I truly am, but this time, _you're_ the one leaping to conclusions. I'm just concerned. I wanted to catch up so you don't feel like training is your whole life, no matter how exciting it is.” 

“Okay,” you sigh. You choose not to explain yourself—telling FM-7283 that you meditate to become closer to Kylo Ren would not go over well. He'd get angry. Or perhaps he'd go home and try it?

There's no way he'd be as good at it as you are. He's too shaky, too damaged. He still looks like he hasn't been sleeping, like he's being overworked. Is he eating enough? It's none of your business. He's an adult.

“We can just play holochess,” he suggests, so you turn on the holoprojector and watch as the alien creatures flicker into being.

You're curious. Now that the flash of anger has subsided, you wonder if you should ask FM-7283 more about himself. You're unsure how much you want to hear; he's been… difficult lately. But maybe you can help him.

“Where are you from?” you find yourself asking suddenly. 

“From? That's an odd question. I've been working here for five solar cycles,” he answers, a little distracted by his first chess move.

“Did you graduate only five years ago?” You pull gently at the threads you see.

He pauses. “No. I had a station before this one. But I lost it.”

“Where? When?” 

“Why do _you_ suddenly care? You have everything you want. Why interrogate someone like me?” He looks up from the chessboard, tension thickening between the two of you.

“I was just curious, calm down,” you shoot back. “I only want to know what's wrong with you. You don't seem well. You're reactionary. You don't look like you sleep. If we're friends, isn't it only right of me to ask what's going on?”

“Fine,” he grants. “I was… discharged. Went to a re-training program. It's… intensive. I don't remember a lot of it. Then once I'd completed it, I was sent to work in the officers' cafeteria.” He chooses a move and one of the holographic aliens takes a step forward and to the right. “I was hoping for a new start. But it's probably no accident that I haven't been able to do any better. You fuck up once...” He sighs. “How are you? You look and feel younger than JA-2917 and me. You probably think you're immortal,” he mutters.

“I...” You pause. Retraining program, he said? What did that entail? You probably don't want to know. It takes you a minute or two to realize that he's insulted you, and even then, it seems inconsequential.

Retraining program…?

“Are you listening to me?” he suddenly demands, and you blink twice, coming out of your trance and feeling startled.

Your eyes are wide, and you take him in. He's upset with you, but all you can think of is what that retraining program must have been like.

“MA-3425,” he says, a little louder. You're unable to reply. Your eyes glaze over. 

“Why aren't you listening?!” he asks angrily, then his face goes white with fear; it's the last thing you see as your head slowly sinks into the table. You're still conscious, but you're losing your grip, slowly but surely.

FM-7283 reaches out and touches you; your hands are cold and numb. He sounds alarmed—you're vaguely aware of him standing up, getting out of his seat at the table, coming over to you and shaking you. Your head collapses into your arms.

“We… help… get her to the med bay,” you hear in bursts, in clouds of incoherent jumbles. “… consciousness. Hurry.”

Your eyes close.

You're in an all-white room, sitting across from a well-kept woman whose soothing voice is washing over you. Then you hear her a little better, hear words like “traitor” and “forget” and “treason” and “reconditioning”.

Reconditioning.

Images flash one after another—blinding lights, your hand filling pages and pages of words, bowing your head, sobbing.

Why? What could you have done?

Traitor—First Order—General Hux—Kylo Ren—

Kylo Ren

_Kylo Ren_

Your head flies back, smacking itself against a hard surface behind you. Someone's lifting you onto a stretcher. You recoil from their touch and begin to sob.

_I serve General Hux, Kylo Ren and the First Order. There is no room in my heart for traitors. I must forget. I must let go. FN-2187 is a traitor—_

—a traitor—

FN-2187

_FN-2187_

Who was FN-2187? A traitor—deserves death—Kylo Ren—General Hux—

“MA-3425,” you hear, somewhere around the corner, through the fog.

“Leave me—” you gasp, try to scream, but no sound comes out. _Leave me alone—I'm innocent—innocent—innocent?_

“Wake up,” you hear, and your vision is swimming. You open your eyes—narrowly—see ceiling panels passing rapidly one by one, hear wheels squeak as you're carried.

“MA-3425,” you hear again. FM-7283's voice. You open your mouth to reply, but can't.

Another white room. Bland food. Wrist pain. Identical classmates. All in the same uniform. White room. Black shadow. Doorway. 

Ren. Kylo Ren. Black shadow—seeking you—staring. Hunting. Fear.

Ren—raising arm. Your throat—pain—no air. Kylo Ren—hurt—pain—suffering—

You scream. “Stop,” you beg, the words finally surfacing. “Don't hurt me—”

“Who are you talking to?”

You've stopped moving. You look around; you're in a hospital bed. FM-7283 is watching you, wild-eyed, as a medical droid is scanning you, searching for anomalies.

“Vital signs normal.”

You collapse against the bed, whimpering. “Where is he?” you sob, panic-stricken. Lord Ren—you need him. Reassurance. He didn't hurt you. He would never hurt you. He kissed you. He wants to see you again. He likes you.

He likes you.

“Where is who?” FM-7283 asks, voice quaking with fear.

“Ren,” you call out. “I'm scared. Where is he?”

“He's not here,” FM-7283 says quickly, glancing around the room nervously, then stands, going over to the doorway and poking his head out to look. “Don't worry,” he adds softly, returning to your bedside. “He's nowhere near here. He can't hurt you.” He takes your hand. “MA-3425, what _happened_?”

You snatch your hand back from him. “Leave me alone. Where is he?” You curl up onto your side, turning away from FM-7283, rocking back and forth and sobbing. Where is Ren? Where is he when you need him so desperately to reassure you that you're all right, that it was just a dream, or a vision, or…?

“Why are you looking for him, MA-3425?” FM-7283 asks, with suspicion. 

“I need him,” you cry into your pillow. 

“Why? Why him? Why you?” FM-7283 grabs you and pulls you back around toward him, stares at you wild-eyed. You wrench your wrist from his grip. “How _dare_ you. Pretending to be friends with us when you only want Ren. Something happened—you've done something to ensnare him, whatever it is. You come in here and you steal his attention from the hard-working, loyal servicemembers who give everything to him. You don't deserve him.” 

Then FM-7283 storms out, shoving the curtain around your bed aside as he does so.

You don't care. Let him leave. Let him rot in mediocrity.

Where is Ren?

You look up, and see the medical droid bending over you, doing another scan. “Where is he?” you whisper to her, and she makes a pitying sequence of beeps and an apology gently delivered in an alien language. 

He's not coming.

You cry bitterly, trying to reach out with your feelings. Surely he's there—surely you can reach him—he can hear you—

You pass out, the tears on your cheeks drying slowly, coldly.

You wake up alone, cold and miserable in the medical bay. You haven't seen or heard from Ren, and FM-7283 has left. Now he's your only friend—

—unless the others have changed their tune and support your career opportunities now.

You wonder where JA-2917 is. She must be busy with her duties. It's unlikely that she's heard about you, as much as it could be nice to have company.

What happened to you?

You ask the medical droid when she comes back in. “Possibly some post-traumatic stress,” she explains, a bit evasively. “Have you been in active combat recently? Made your first kill?”

“No,” you answer, fear and dread clenching your throat.

Is there a truth you cannot see?

“You must be working too hard,” she assures you. “Get some rest. We will contact your superior officer.”

You nod, sinking back against the hospital bed.

He didn't reply. He never replies. Will he ever? What must you do to become closer to him, for him to need you the way you need him?

_Next week._

Next week, you will return to him. You'll do something—give him something—something that will make him see. You'll find the right words. You'll pursue him, you'll initiate. You'll have him.

He kissed you. It's only a matter of time.

 

You sleep another day and night, and go back to work. No one has asked about the undershirt you stole, which strikes you as unusual, but only for a moment. He must have dozens of them.

You get through the laundry, resisting the urge to take more of Ren's clothes, and return to your desk. No messages.

You have time before lunch and your training, so you read the manuals for the entry-level version of JA-2917's job. After a solitary meal, you meet up with your trainer.

“Welcome back. Glad you can train again, though your multiple med bay visits in such a short time are concerning to me.” She pulls her staff out of the pack she's wearing, and assumes an attack stance. “Get ready. In a real battle there are no warmups.”

You've got your weapon, and you mimic her stance. Then she hacks at you, and you block, parry, block, sidestep, then attack. Your baton connects with her shoulder and she grunts. “Good. You're getting better. You're about three-quarters of the way through our time together.” You must look confused. “This is an accelerated program, designed to get people proficient in a very short time when their skills”—she pauses as though the word sounds strange to her—“are needed for an upcoming mission. I'm still not sure why they're considering someone at your level, but they must have their reasons.”

_They do,_ you think to yourself. 

_I'm special. Ren likes me. I'm… his favorite._

This realization gives you renewed strength and vigor, and you put your trainer on the defensive, slashing and hacking—clumsily, but better.

When you've completed sparring to her satisfaction, you're given an assignment to lift heavier weights and are then sent on your way. You're excited to be moving up.

As you head back to shower, you wonder if you should find a buddy to lift weights with. You think briefly of FM-7283, but remember hazily that he walked indignantly out on you while you were sick. Well. No love lost there. He can take his self-righteous pity out on someone else. Someone who isn't scaling the heights the way you are.

Does JA-2917 lift weights? Does she even have time?

You shower and spend the rest of your evening at home, stretching, making another attempt at meditation and then sleeping.

The next few days are uneventful; aside from your burning muscles, tight and strained from the heavier weights, not much has changed. No messages. No news about the defector.

Then, it comes: the day you've been waiting for. Seven long days, exactly, from the day you and Ren kissed in his office.

You're dunking filthy uniforms in a basin of hot water as you remember that moment: his lips, soft and plush, the heat of his breath, the way his hair just barely brushed your cheek. His arm around you, his broad shoulders and chest. You're anxious for the day to be over, to be done with your duties so you can go and find him. 

When at long last you've finished, eaten and showered, you nervously head back to the sector you'd been to before and go to wait in front of the long hallway that leads to his office.

On the door frame, there is a small note.

_[Search your feelings, and you shall discover where to find me.]_

Your heart stutters in your chest. Search your feelings? What feelings? The feelings for Ren?

Where would he be?

You close your eyes, reaching out one of your arms in imitation of Ren using his power. You get frustrated when you feel nothing.

Maybe if you retrace your steps…

Where have you met him before? You think for a bit, and realize there are too many places to count. You feel dizzy—the thought of going and searching all of those places makes you sick. You just need Ren—you just need to see him. Desperately.

_Please,_ you think to yourself, hard. _I don't understand. Please show me where to find you. I need to see you again._

A sector and room number appear in your mind, and you make your way.

 

You're trying not to walk too fast, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but you can't help it—you want to run to him. Doors and officers and stationed guards zip by in the background, lights on dark durasteel walls and control panels at the periphery of your vision.

You arrive, and pause at the door, which is thick-walled and excessively armored for a man who can kill anyone with just a look or a flourishing wave of his lightsaber. You're unsure if you should punch in a code on the keypad or knock, but as you raise your fist to do so, the door suddenly hisses open and you hear a deep voice. “Welcome.”

You enter, steps now hesitant, as you realize that this is most likely to be Kylo Ren's personal residence. It's dark, with a single surreal white light pouring in from a source you cannot identify. Ren's living space is utilitarian and unattractive, with walls that are joined together with slots and holes jutting out. You tiptoe in further, unsure what to expect, your heart pounding so vigorously you're ready to faint. 

“My lord,” you call out, then are overcome by the instinct to kneel, so you get down on one knee and bow your head in submission.

You feel and hear him come forward; you expect the loud steps of his boots but instead his movements are softer than usual. He comes closer, until you can sense that he's before you, even as you're too anxious to raise your head.

“Rise,” he says softly. You shiver. No mask, just his husky, deep voice. You get up immediately, too quickly, and feel dizzy.

“My lord, I've come to see you,” you announce, looking up at his beautiful, exaggerated features. Brown eyes glance down at you, chin tilted, dark hair framing his face. He's in a black undershirt and high-waisted pants, the hem going all the way up to just under his ribcage. That's right, you remember—this is where the wide belt rests that fastens his tunic together.

“So you've noticed my state of undress,” he begins, voice low. “Won't you join me?”

You blush. Your hands fuss with the hem of your gray uniform jacket.

“Go on. Take it off.” He gestures at it with a nod of his head.

You're eager to do as he asks, but you're nervous. You can feel the air becoming thick with expectation. Cautiously, you unzip it, letting it shrug off your shoulders. With the Force, he catches it, and it floats over into his outstretched hand. You won't be getting it back, not until… well. 

Under your jacket is a soft tank and bra, and below, your slacks, belted just above your hips. Your hands go to take it off, but stop. Your mouth is dry, your hands cold and tingling. What does he have planned?

“Don't be afraid,” he breathes. “I'm in control here. Give yourself over to me. You need me, don't you?” He holds your gaze.

“Yes, my lord,” you reply, and your hands fumble with your belt, until he takes it, pulls it gently from the waist of your trousers. Your eyes close and your head bows in demure shame.

“Look at me,” he orders. You comply. “I know you want this. I know you dream of me, day and night. I've seen it. I've been watching you. Why do you hesitate?”

“I… I'm scared.” The words surprise you—are they true? Are you truly afraid—afraid of the man who loves you?

Loves? Does he love you?

“Take them off,” he says flatly. You hurriedly obey, letting your pants drop to the floor. “Get over here. Let me touch you. Let me look at you. I know you need me. Say it. Tell me how you truly feel.”

“My lord—”

“Kylo.”

You feel heat wash over you, from your hairline to between your thighs. “Kylo.” You try on his name, as it comes out in a whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Come here.”

You obediently come forward in your tank and panties, your legs shivering with cold. You stand before him, looking up; he's close enough to touch. 

He hooks one arm around your lower back and pulls you in, harshly, tilting his head down to kiss you. It's rough, almost to the point of him biting your lips. Your limbs weaken as you whimper softly into the kiss. You remember then, all of the times you were alone, dreaming of him, soaking through your panties and silently begging for his attention. Now, you have it—he will complete you, he will raise you, exalt you from your lowly place of birth and station and allow you to fulfill your destiny. 

He pulls back. “Tell me. I won't ask you again.”

“I need you,” you breathe.

“Again.” He reaches down, pulls one strap of your bra down your shoulder and cups one of your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

You squeeze your eyes shut, looking away from him even as his touch lights up your nerves, makes you gasp for breath. “Kylo,” you choke out. “I need you. I...”

He presses his lips to your cheek, and you slowly calm down. 

You feel him stroke your hair, touching your temple with his fingers, as you look up to meet his eyes, dark, intense. Then the fear and anxiety in your mind dissolve, vanish down the back of your head, down your spine and out through your tailbone.

You squirm. You're soaking wet. He's looking down at you. Your bodies are touching. He leans down to press his lips to the shell of your ear. “How do you feel?”

Your mind is blank, your eyes clear, vapid, serene. “Good,” you whisper. “Empty. Fill me.”

He smirks. “That will come soon.” He breaks your embrace, keeping one hand on your lower back, and pushes you forward. You realize then that he's leading you to his bed, a double with plain black sheets, black walls, lit by the same surreal, white light.

You sit down on the edge of his bed and unhook your bra, setting it down gently. Kylo is standing above you, looking even more tall and broad now that you're sitting down. He gets down on his knees, bowing his head, his lips and tongue on each of your nipples. You moan softly.

_That's right, my girl. That's right. Say it._

“Kylo,” you moan, your hips grinding awkwardly against the edge of the bed. Your cheeks are hot; you're trembling; he's right there, strong and prideful even on his knees, the most divine temptation. Your hands go to the back of his head, stroking his hair, timidly slipping down the back of his neck to his shoulder. You feel his breath hitching against you, a reward for your bravery.

He releases you, and you scramble up onto the bed, throwing yourself backwards, head falling onto his pillow. He unzips his high-waisted pants, pulls his shirt over his head, and you gasp as you behold pale defined muscles, collarbone, shoulders, raw strength and power—everything you desire, everything you need.

_Need._

“Kylo,” you cry again, as his gaze turns to hunger, predatory and wild. 

His soft underwear drops to the floor, fully hard cock springing out from under the waistband. He's enormous. You're not sure he'll fit—you're a virgin, tender, untouched.

_Don't worry. You'll like it, won't you, my girl?_

You nod breathlessly, his eyes on you making you squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.

He tugs your panties off, hands-free, and your knees touch demurely as they slip off of your ankles. Kylo climbs onto the bed toward you, hungry gaze still all over your smaller frame, your shyness and embarrassment noticed and ignored.

He pulls your knees apart, one in each hand. “It's time. You've been waiting—you've been wanting this. Say it,” he urges, voice breaking.

“I need you,” you declare, and mean it, with the whole of your being. You take a deep breath, praying for the courage you need to tell him everything. “Lord Kylo Ren, if you don't take me now, if you don't make love to me, I'm certain I can no longer serve the First Order. I will die, in shame, in failure. Please,” you beg. “Give me purpose. Give me strength. Give me what I need—I need you. I—I love you,” you sob, “so much.”

You stare at him desperately, waiting for his reply, hoping against hope that he'll say he feels the same.

And then you see him smile, for the very first time.

“I know.”

He pauses, lets the words sink in, and then enters you with one smooth glide.


	9. Chapter 9

You fall back against the bed, gasping in pain and pleasure. You ache, you burn—he's big, too big, familiar, though this is your very first time. He starts slow at first, easing into you, harsh breathing through parted, plush lips. At the sound of his arousal you groan loudly, eyes closing against your will, as the deepest parts of your being crave him within you, completing you, elevating you, the Force surging between you, a beautiful symphony tying you both together.

His hands clutch your thighs as he thrusts into you, each stroke deep inside you pulling you closer to rapture, closer, and your eyes open, seeing him above you. Kylo Ren is right there, broad and strong and falling apart. His face is tightened in pleasure, and you wonder briefly if he needs you the way you need him. The thought pulls you close to orgasm, and then you feel fingers circling your clit, even though both of his hands are occupied, and you're overwhelmed. His body is thick, hard, strong, good, right, so, so right, moving, hitting you harder and harder as his head falls back on a long groan that sends you over the edge. You feel him pulse inside of you, each hot spurt of his seed filling you, and you allow a heated moan, a blissful gasp. “Kylo...”

“Yes,” he breathes, laying atop you, enveloping you in his arms, nose brushing your hair. You shudder, shaking, feeling tears coming as you wrap your arms around him, holding him as you sob.

“Shh,” he soothes, his lips feather-light against each of your eyelids in turn. “There's no need to cry. After all, you got what you wanted, didn't you?”

“Yes,” you sniffle, miserably, clutching him to you, afraid that he'll let go. He pulls back slightly, but you cling harder. “Please don't let go, don't ever let me go,” you beg. “I can't breathe, please—”

“Shh.” He pulls out of you, gets back on his heels and tugs you up, as you continue to weep. He holds you until you stop shaking, then gets up, pulls a blanket from a drawer and wraps you up in it. You're calmer now, breathing more slowly, warmer, feeling more secure and safe.

Kylo Ren gets up, leaves for a moment; at first, you reach for him, mouth opening to beg him not to go, until you realize he's only gone to the refresher to clean himself up. Then he returns in his underwear, sits down next to you on the bed and reaches over, turning your chin and looking into your eyes.

“MA-3425,” he begins.

You nod.

“I have a very important request to make of you.”

You inhale, sniffling; he reaches over, pulls a tissue from a box on the nightstand and hands it to you. “W-what is it?”

“I can't tell you yet,” he warns, “but I will tell you this: if you do as I ask, if you follow through with this assignment, you will never be lonely again. But if you falter, if you hesitate, if you fail...”

He pauses to make sure you're listening, and you nod, urging him to continue.

“If you fail, I can no longer help you. I cannot save you from your fate. You'll come through for me, won't you?”

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Yes, no matter what. I cannot fail. I _will_ not fail.”

“Good.” He turns his head, stares at the floor, and you watch him blink, his beautiful eyes downcast. “It'd be a shame if I had to kill you.”

Your body goes cold, and you feel like you're going to be sick. You cough, gagging, and he turns to look at you again, interestedly, as though he's studying you. “Come here,” he sighs, and you inch closer to him. He slips his arm around you comfortingly. “You won't fail,” he soothes. “You're doing so well.” 

“Yes, my lord,” you tremble, his praise uplifting you.

“You wish to stay with me,” he says, and you nod, sniffling. “You can be honest.”

You look at him, leaning in closer to smell his skin and hair. “Please let me stay,” you whisper. “I can't be without you.”

“I know, my girl.” He rises, letting go of you, then heads over to the wall, pushing a panel, a square cut-out that hisses as it comes out of the wall. He lifts an article of clothing out of it, fabric spilling like water, unrolling to form a black nightgown. He brings it over, lays it delicately on the bed. “For you.”

You look up at him, heart rising, touched to the core that he's given you a gift. “Kylo,” you breathe. “Thank you.” You rise, shedding the blanket, and slip the gown over your head. It's divinely soft, flowy, feminine. You go to embrace him.

“Get cleaned up,” he breathes into the top of your head, and you go to the refresher.

When you come out, he's holding a matching pair of black panties for you, and you pull up the skirt of the gown to put them on. Your nipples are cold and hard, visibly poking out the fabric of your gown.

“How do you feel?” He's chosen to remain shirtless, but has put on a pair of soft, worn-in pajamas.

You go to him, reaching shyly to place your palm flat against the firm muscle of his chest. “I… good,” you breathe. “I'm here with you, my l—Kylo,” you correct yourself. “I never want to leave,” you admit shyly.

“You won't.”

 

You awaken, for a second shocked to realize that you're not at home, when you feel a warm body shift next to you and remember—

You're in bed with Kylo Ren.

Blushing suddenly, you turn to your right, noticing the broad, milky-white shoulders above the black comforter that you're both snugly under. Emboldened by the flood of memories of his body on yours, you move closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist, pressing your lips between his shoulderblades.

You fall asleep.

The next morning, you get dressed with him, and fold the waiflike textiles he's given you into your pockets.

“Your training is almost complete. Next week, return to me, with progress. When you've finished, we can proceed.” He's fully dressed, in everything but the mask. “I know you won't fail,” he assures you, softly, but there's a hard edge in his tone.

“No, my lord. I will not fail,” you declare.

“Return to your duties as assigned. I'll be waiting.”

He escorts you out, and you stand up tall. You've won—one more task, this mission, and he'll be yours forever. 

You must not fail. You _will_ not fail. You will succeed—no matter what, or whom, you have to destroy in the process.

 

You return home with your head held high, marching through the halls of the _Finalizer_ with purpose and grace like never before. You feel taller, stronger, with greater focus. Has Kylo touched you with his mysterious Force, left you with an imprint that will free you from your chains?

You scan the area, noting the distrust and suspicion in the faces of your colleagues. As you go by, every man, woman and junior First Order member stares at you, hard, as though you've grown another limb, or perhaps as though you've become their enemy—because you have.

Just one more trial, you tell yourself. Yet Kylo never told you what it was. He has complete faith in you. You'll learn soon.

As you finish your drills and move on to an extended sparring test, your superior officer explains.

“We're almost ready, MA-3425. Tomorrow, you will have an examination. If you succeed, we have a mission for you. If you fail, we'll be forced to choose an alternative candidate. But I think you've been well-prepared.”

You finish one more exercise and she calls a halt; you salute, resting the tip of your baton on the ground as you watch her. “Yes, sir.”

“I have high hopes for you,” she adds proudly. “You've done very well. To be honest, I had very little faith at first, but when our master explained what needed to be done, I reconsidered my first impressions of you.” She gives you the beginnings of a smile. “Oh, and there will also be a small marksmanship exam, but you'll ace that.”

You're curious. Our master? Does she mean Kylo? Has Kylo hand-selected you for this mission?

Wait. Of course he has.

But why? What is it you are to do for him? Why are you special?

It doesn't matter. These are orders. This is your destiny… this is what you are meant to do.

“Yes, sir. I won't let you down,” you vow, and break for lunch.

JA-2917 is sitting in the cafeteria, looking as stressed out as ever, and you plunk yourself down in the seat in front of her, fulfilled and happy and positively glowing from your evening of lovemaking with Kylo. You couldn't help but remember it as you walked there, your gait changed by the pleasant soreness he's given you down below.

JA-2917 begins studying you immediately, as you shove a hunk of bread in your mouth. You're very hungry, both from your training session and… last night.

“You're different,” she says, but this time her usual concern has… changed. She's not suspicious; she's not jealous.

You look at her worriedly. “What do you mean?”

“I didn't see you at the rec center last night. I thought we had decided to play sabacc.”

Had you?

Your skin prickles with anxiety. “I… I'm sorry, something came up. I—” _No, don't—_ “I had to see Ren,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “He...” You scramble to figure out a good lie. “I was unwell. FM-7283… He picked a fight with me, and then I ended up in the med bay.” There—it's mostly true, right?

JA-2917 turns white. Silence takes over the air for a few beats, and when she replies, it's very quietly. 

“I don't like this. Any of it. Why are you suddenly seeing Ren at night? Wait—” She sits upright suddenly, a revelation striking her, written on her face. “That's where you were last week. You were with him. He's—is he stalking you? Is he touching you?” The alarm in her eyes turns to anger.

“No! How _dare_ you,” you spit. “How dare you accuse Lord Ren of hurting me? Just because he cares about me, because he's _chosen_ me, personally, for this mission, and you're just stuck working on the… the control modules, or whatever it was—”

“Lord Ren?” Her voice rises a few notes, and you hear incredulity, can see it in her green eyes.

“Yes, Lord Ren,” you snap, then stop cold. _Oh, no…_

“That's not what _we_ call him,” she whispers gravely. “What is he doing to you? How long has this been going on? You need to go back to the medical bay. Get an exam. I bet he's sexually assaulting you. Oh, stars.” She lowers her head into her hands, and when she raises it again, you see tears at the corners of her eyes. “MA-3425, this is _serious._ Really serious. He can't do this—I don't care who he is. This _has_ to be a breach of the First Order code, and I'm going to figure out how. I'll go to the databanks and look it up. Don't you understand?” She sniffles and tries to hide her emotion behind her mug of caf.

You're too shocked to be angry. Does JA-2917 have so little faith in our leadership that she thinks Kylo would stoop to that? “JA-2917,” you say slowly, firmly, “he didn't rape me. We made love.”

Her eyes widen, and her gaze hardens with fury. You see her clutch the edge of the table near her, her already pale knuckles going even whiter.

“That's it. I'm reporting it. I—I can't believe what I'm hearing—”

Her chair screeches as she backs out of it, tray of food and caf forgotten completely, and leaves the room.

“Wait—”

You get up to go after her, hoping nobody throws away your meal, and catch her at the doorway, following her out into a crowded hall.

“Stop!” you call out, chasing her. A line of stormtroopers in armor blocks her path, and you're able to catch up. “Please leave him alone,” you say, as your voice wobbles. “Why are you—”

The troopers pass and she hurries around a corner, disappearing into an elevator. “Damn it!” you cry, fear making your extremities shake. She's going to ruin everything—

—or maybe not?

Your heartbeat slows. You know what you have to do.

You pull out your comlink, and calmly return to the cafeteria to finish your meal.

“Sir,” you begin, and wait until you hear a chipper male voice respond on the line.

“I have reason to believe a member of our staff is planning to commit high treason against Kylo Ren and the First Order.”

A pause.

“Very well. Report to me immediately. If what you're saying is true, we have no choice but to send her to reconditioning.”

You smile.

No one will stop you now. Fighting is treason. The others won't lay a finger on you, FM-7283 is… being himself, and JA-2917 won't be spreading her traitorous slander anymore, ever again.

You finish your meal, and head to ES-2213's office.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you greet, only to be met with a tired face. His usual cheer has been dampened, no doubt with the news about JA-2917. 

“Come in,” he replies. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Well, sir… she's been asking too many questions for a long time. She called me into her office under false pretense to inquire about my medical status. She has a little too much interest in my past—which is an open book—and she doesn't trust Ren. She thinks I shouldn't be seeing him or gaining his favor. Everyone is so jealous,” you huff, pausing a moment to catch your breath.

He's not impressed; you're unsure if it's because of JA-2917, or because of you. “Very well. I'll bring her in for questioning. Anything else I should know about?”

“FM-7283 might have more information,” you add innocently. “The three of us eat together on occasion.”

“Noted. Thank you, MA-3425. If what you've told me is true, you have performed an act of heroism today.” He beams. “Go ahead and get back to work. I'll call her in. If she is to be sent to reconditioning, you will have one more audience with her before she goes. See if you can get any more information.”

You salute and leave. 

You return to the laundry room, and just as you're finishing up, ES-2213 pings your comlink. “She's here. I'll give you a few minutes to ask her questions and to bid her goodbye if necessary. Then I'll decide on a course of action to change her behavior.” 

You return, and are taken to a waiting room. JA-2917 is the only person in the room. Her eyes are wild with anger.

“Aren't you happy to see me?” you demand, a little bit hurt that she doesn't seem to care.

“No. I'm not. I've tried everything—snapping you out of it, helping you, giving you advice—none of it matters. You don't—no, you _refuse_ to understand. It's willful. All you care about is moving up and your relationship with Ren, which is nothing like you think it is.” She looks at her folded hands in her lap; the anger on her face fades to resignation, even pity. You don't understand—why pity? Doesn't she understand that this is your moment, your ascension?

“Why? Why would you lie about him? Why would you even _think_ to spread rumors about Lord Ren?” Tears come to your eyes. “He works so hard to keep us all safe, and you're so ungrateful—”

“Look,” she spits, slamming one hand on the table next to her. “I know what's going on now. I feel stupid for not figuring it out before.” Her green eyes flash, and her face is ugly with malice. “I knew you were from Starkiller. We're all from Starkiller. Ren didn't like us where we were, or we fucked up in some way, so he either sent us to reconditioning, or in my case, moved us so he can keep an eye on our behavior. I had my suspicions about FM-7283, but you…” She inhales deeply. “You're a whole new case. I never dreamed that Ren would do something so vile, so despicable, as what he's done to you.” 

“As _what_ —”

“You're from Starkiller. You did something wrong, or were framed for doing something wrong, and you were reconditioned and sent here. But there's something more that happened...” She looks at you, hard, and goes to touch the back of your hand, but you snatch it away immediately as though she's burned you. “Ren has some kind of hold over you. Mental, emotional—whatever. With the Force. Surely you can see it,” she urges. “You've got to. Nobody's friends with Ren, MA-3425. Nobody. Not even you. He's using you, toying with you—why, I don't know, but he must be stopped—”

JA-2917 immediately stops speaking. You go to cut in, to let forth the volcano of rage and hatred you feel for her, but she looks… off. Her face is frozen, her mouth open but with no sound coming out.

Then you hear a very familiar mechanical clash and whirring from behind you. You're not afraid. There's no need. He's here. He's in control.

“I underestimated you,” you hear, distorted and fuzzy, commanding, deadly. “I can no longer let you intrude where you don't belong.” 

JA-2917's head flies back into the wall behind her, as her hands clutch at her throat, at the empty air.

“I thought if I removed you, you'd behave yourself this time. So unfortunate.” 

You turn around, and Kylo is there, one outstretched arm with his fingers gripping the air. You feel a bit strange—you feel like you should be panicking, but you feel nothing. Nothing at all.

“I'm sorry,” you tell her, and wish you could avert your eyes from her horrified look of betrayal. “It's treason.” You reach up to wipe the corners of your eyes, and while your head is bowed, you hear the shuffling sound of your former friend slowly sinking down into her chair.

You look back up. She's slumped, mouth open in agony, hands slipping down the front of her uniform shirt as the life leaves her body.

Kylo turns to you, letting his hand fall to his side and extinguishing his lightsaber. “You did the right thing in reporting her,” he assures you. “If you see or hear anything else, do not hesitate. Show no mercy. There are traitors everywhere,” he growls, and leaves you, before you can say a word.

You leave your report with ES-2213, but something is missing. Is any of what JA-2917 said true? About the Force? About your past? About Kylo?

No. She's a liar and a traitor. And now, she's out of your world forever.


	10. Chapter 10

You train and return home. A quick shower and you head to the cafeteria to eat dinner. It isn't until you get there that you realize that you'll be eating alone today, and every other day from now on.

_He's using you,_ she'd said. How could that be true? Using you to do what? You had no life, no purpose before him. If what she said is true—if you all really are from Starkiller—haven't you been uplifted? If you really had erred, terribly, enough to need reconditioning or other treatment, isn't everything better now?

“MA-3425,” a timid voice says, and you look up, startled; you didn't expect to see FM-7283 back after his pathetic outburst while you were sick. Now, you have unfortunate news to share.

“What do you want?” you demand, gesturing sarcastically at the table. “Come to tell me my life is a lie too?”

“What? No,” he shoots back. “I wanted to know what the hell happened to JA-2917. There are rumors that she's been killed by Ren.” You study his face closely. Anger, alarm, concern, and—ah, there it is. _Fear._ Always fear. He's always afraid, of everyone and everything. Even you. It makes you feel powerful.

“She has,” you agree calmly, taking a sip of water and turning your gaze back down to your plate as you take another bite of dinner.

“What?!” FM-7283 sits down immediately, the chair legs screeching as he yanks it out from under the table. “Why? When? Were you there? Did you see it?”

“Of course I saw it, I'm the one who reported her,” you declare proudly. He pales. _Good._

“But… what could she possibly have done to deserve it? MA-3425, please, there _has_ to have been a reason,” he babbles anxiously, watery eyes trained to your own.

“There was a reason,” you explain. “She was spreading rumors and prepared to commit high treason against Kylo Ren. You would have done the same thing in my position.”

You let your words sink in, carefully watching his face.

He sighs, letting his head bow onto the table, and like every other time he's done so, you suspect that he's crying. He raises his head back up, but there are no tears this time—just weariness. “All right,” he says, finally, voice full of sad resignation. “I… I just don't believe it. After all she's done for the First Order, to just… vanish like that?”

“Lord Ren took matters into his own hands,” you add. “It was the kind of disciplinary action no one enjoys taking. But you knew her,” you urge. “You remember.”

With a nervous laugh, he nods. “Yeah. I knew her.” He sighs. “I'm gonna get something to eat.”

You watch him go, unsure how to proceed. You've got your eye on him—if he agrees with JA-2917 and tries to trick you into believing Ren is abusing you, you can get him sent in again. If he agrees with you, maybe you can try to mend your friendship.

FM-7283 comes back with a meager meal; evidently he can't stomach what happened to JA-2917. You're eating heartily, still hungry from your… exercise with Kylo.

“It's a good thing she's gone, actually,” you pipe up, breaking what might have become companionable silence. “Because she was telling lies about _you_ , too, not just Lord Ren.”

FM-7283 raises his eyebrows. “Have you always called him that? Have I been disrespectful this whole time?” he wonders, almost to himself. Then a beat goes by. “What did she say about me?” he suddenly demands.

You pause. You want to tell him the truth, but you don't want to purposefully insult him. “She said that she thinks we're all from Starkiller and that Lord Ren is keeping a close eye on us because of past offenses,” you explain. “Isn't that absurd? It's such a shame that she has so little meaning in her life that she feels the need to tear us down.”

“Tear _you_ down,” he corrects, “because I'm already here. And honestly? It would explain a lot. The missing memories, the inability to have my work noticed or acknowledged—I knew there was a reason. But what did she say about you?”

“It was too terrible to repeat,” you finish gravely. “And everything she said was wrong. So why think about it?”

FM-7283's lips set in a thin line. 

The two of you finish your meals in silence. Then FM-7283 gets up.

“I assume I won't see you tonight. You're probably going to be with Ren. What will you do when you fall out of his favor?”

FM-7283 leaves, without another word.

_I'm going to sleep early so I can ace my trials tomorrow,_ you think to yourself.

So you do.

You wake up, tired but quickly alert. You'd dreamed of strange things, fogs of people and places and JA-2917's words of warning that quickly fell silent. You'd rather not dream about her anyway.

You get dressed, eat breakfast alone, and then arrive.

Your instructor explains the exam to you. There are timed runs, exercises, sparring competitions. You expected there to be other candidates there vying for the perfect scores, but it turns out to be just you.

The physical fitness standards are easy. The sparring is a bit of a challenge, but you manage to pass, though not by the most comfortable of margins. It doesn't matter, you tell yourself; you've won. You ace the marksmanship exam; you're all set.

“I'm proud of you,” she says once you're finished. “We're all done here. You can head back, and tomorrow you can start expecting mission briefing. Congratulations.” She claps you on the shoulder.

You're beaming. You're successful, strong, capable. You're sure this mission is right for you, and that with it, you can prove to Kylo how devoted and loyal you are.

_Return to me, with progress._

You jump slightly as you remember his words. Are you supposed to go see him again? Does he… does he want to make love with you again?

You get through your day despite finding it nearly impossible to focus, and show up at Ren's door with the undergarments he gave you in your pocket. He disables the security system to unlock the door, and you go in, nervous but excited. “My lord, I did it,” you call out, looking for him, but all you see are shadows. He must have turned off the white lights that normally flood his chambers.

“Well done,” he congratulates you. “Are you ready for your mission?”

You respectfully take off your shoes and follow his voice. You find him sitting on the floor, barefoot with his legs crossed, sitting up straight in meditation. 

“Yes, my lord,” you say as you get seated in front of him, mimicking his stance.

“Very well. I'll give it to you. Close your eyes.”

You do so, and try to focus on your breathing, as you do at home. Here with Kylo, there are fewer interruptions, save the man himself. You long to look at him, but follow his commands.

“You've no doubt heard of the defector,” he says softly.

“Yes, my lord.”

“The one who stole a TIE fighter and freed the captive Resistance pilot. The one who was trying to escape Jakku aboard the Corellian freighter we found. The one who committed high treason against the First Order, and against me, personally.”

You hear rage making his voice tremble, and can feel a vibration pass through you, as though the floor beneath your feet is breaking apart—but it's just him, just the powerful emotions of a wronged, insulted warrior. “Yes, my lord.”

“We've found him,” Kylo continues, a half-chuckle at the end of his sentence. “At long last.

“And you're going to kill him for me, my girl.”

_Me?_

“I… yes, my lord, of course I will,” you vow, suddenly afraid. You sounded hesitant there for a moment—

“You're wondering, aren't you, why I don't go kill him myself?”

“Yes, my lord, I was wondering,” you admit, cringing. The air in the room is still pressured with his anger, but it's stable; he isn't getting angrier, and it isn't being directed at you.

“Because I trust you,” he says, “and I know that you won't fail.” You feel him reach out his hand, and you take it, can see him even with your eyes closed. “You always wanted better for yourself. Now's your chance. Take it.”

“Thank you, Kylo,” you breathe, gripping his hand in yours, as if you're afraid to lose it.

“You're going tomorrow. At 0800 hours. All of your other tasks have been cancelled. You're spending the rest of the night and tomorrow morning here, with me. We'll get breakfast sent in. You brought that lingerie I gave you?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I have it.”

“Go. Put it on for me. Right now.”

He lets go of your hand. You open your eyes, take just a second to gaze at him, at the way his hair frames his face, and then do as he's asked you. You go into his refresher and change, wincing at the unwashed panties. Next time, you think to yourself, and return to him.

“Come to bed with me,” he orders, taking off his shirt.

“Of course,” you say, and follow him as both of you get in under the covers. “I… I'm not sure I'm ready to sleep yet, though.”

“Just lie here with me,” he instructs, and you lie on your side, with his arm wrapped around you. You shiver, and he pulls you closer to him, uncomfortably harshly.

“MA-3425,” he says, after a long pause.

“Yes, Kylo?” His name on your breath makes heat bloom in your cheeks.

“Do you have any misgivings about the instructions I gave you? Any hesitations? Any reasons why you could be unfit for this mission?”

“Absolutely none,” you declare. “I'm yours to command. I… I've been dreaming about this. I had a dream about the defector actually—” Why are you telling him this? “He was in the desert. I stunned him and was going to make sure it was really him but someone stopped me.”

You expect a reaction, but he's quiet. “Dreams can be anything. Don't concern yourself with it.”

“I see.”

You lay in silence. The longer you're there with him, the easier it becomes; it's difficult to be nervous when you're wrapped in Kylo's arms like that. Like he's cherishing you.

Like he loves you.

Does he love you?

You suddenly shiver. He… he never said, did he? Whether or not he loved you.

“Shh.” You feel his lips and nose brush your hair. “I can hear you. Let go.”

“I… I'm sorry,” you mumble into his arm. “I only… I said… some things to you, last time I was here.” You feel childish.

“And I heard them. And you're still here, aren't you?”

It isn't the answer you were hoping for. You try not to be hurt. “Yes, I'm here,” you agree, sadly.

“Would it help if I told you this is the closest anyone's gotten to me?” It's spoken into your neck, above your shoulder, as he moves to kiss you there. Your breathing speeds up, arousal pulsing between your legs.

“Is that true, Kylo?” You try to roll over to face him, and he pins you to the bed and climbs on top of you.

“Yes, it is. You're special. I don't do this. Would you like me to give you something? A good luck gift for your mission,” he offers, dark eyes full of mischief and something else, something cold.

You nod quickly, hoping that it involves him touching you.

“Get your panties off,” he says, and you quickly comply; then you feel his fingers brush against you, a wet trail licking up to your clit. You moan softly, your head rolling back as he rubs circles around you. You stare straight at him, noting the look of hunger.

“Do you want me?” you ask, feeling very shy and young.

“Yes,” he answers plainly, and dips his head low, between your thighs, pressing his lips to your clit.

A long, soft moan rises up in your chest. “Kylo...” It's utter bliss—he's gentle and soft and insistent, as his tongue strokes you back and forth. You force your eyes open to look at him, to see his face between your legs, to commit it to memory.

“Are you hard?” you ask, feeling bold.

_Yes,_ you hear him reply in your head.

“Please, let me touch it,” you breathe.

_Not yet, my girl._

You ache. Kylo Ren is hard for you—you're in his bed—he's touching you—

You feel him slip a finger inside you, curling and stroking you from the inside. Your eyes squeeze shut as your body tenses, and you can feel his mood, feel his arousal being projected onto you. He's on his stomach, face pressed up into you, his hips grinding against the bed as he brings you close to the edge.

_Say it._

“I need you, Kylo,” you gasp. “I'm yours—”

Your legs tremble, right on the edge, right there. So close—he feels so good, the tension of his arousal around both of you, dark and desperate and almost angry.

You cum loudly, shouting his name, dissolving into moans and shivers, and when you stop shaking, he draws back from you, and you see your own wetness on his cheeks. 

Kylo licks his lips, then gets up on his knees, getting off of the bed to shed his pants and underwear and climb back up next to you. You look up at him with hazy, blissful adoration. What a generous lover—

The breath is knocked from your lungs as he grabs your thighs and pulls you roughly closer to him.

“Kylo,” you begin, “just give me a minute—”

He enters you without warning and without asking, slamming in to the hilt, and you cry out in pain. “I've done enough,” he growls. “Remember your place.” 

Your eyes widen with shock, and you feel yourself getting choked up. Does he care so little for you? Are you nothing more than—

“Shh,” he interrupts, slowing down, then stopping, bending down closer to you. “Look at me.”

You obey. You're still afraid, but it's fading. His eyes are beautiful, he's breathing heavily, his still cock inside you is hard and right. He lets go of your legs, and you reach up to hold them apart, to take him deep. Now you understand. He needs you too, doesn't he? 

“I'm okay,” you whisper. “I'm always okay when I'm with you.”

“That's right,” he replies, with a hint of a smile, and then eases back into moving again with a groan. Your head falls back with a soft moan, and you watch as he thrusts until climax, expressed with a few deep sounds and a spill of heat inside you.

You've done it—you've satisfied him. You're so proud of yourself—truly this is the act of love and devotion your hero so deserves.

Your “friends” could never compare to this.

 

You awaken from a nightmare a few hours later, gasping for breath and shuddering. It was terrible—you'd dreamed that you killed the defector in the desert, only to remove his helmet and discover him to be Kylo. He lay there, dead, in the sand; you'd cried out with grief and woken with a start.

“Kylo?” you whisper, turning over; he's fast asleep, lying on his back, his broad chest slowly rising and falling. You wipe tears from your cheeks as you behold him, feeling touched by how vulnerable and beautiful he looks.

You move closer and lay your head on his chest, one arm around his waist. He is so precious to you—you can't imagine what you'd do if something were to come between you.

Another wave of emotion passes over you, and you cry silently into his skin, shivering, clutching him to you. You're so glad he's okay—

“Are you crying?” you hear him ask, sleep slurring his speech.

“I'm sorry, I had a nightmare,” you explain, trembling.

“It's just a dream,” he replies, yawning and looking over at you. “Your cheeks are cold.”

“I'm sorry, Kylo,” you whisper, and feel sobs shaking you. “I… I dreamed that you were murdered. It was terrible,” you confess.

“No, you dreamed that _you_ murdered me,” he corrects. 

You start to cry all over again. “I never—my lord, I would _never_ —”

“Shh,” he replies, wiping hair out of his face and looking down at you. “It doesn't matter. After tomorrow, none of this will matter. Go back to sleep.”

You're not sure what he means, but he's trying to comfort you, and slowly, you're able to calm yourself down. He's alive, he's there with you, he's still on your side. The mission is tomorrow. Your future is secure. 

Everything is okay.

You fall asleep next to him, curled up on your side, with him facing away from you.


	11. Chapter 11

In the morning, you wake up alone.

You panic for a second, until you see that the lights are on; Kylo is still here, he's just already awake. Did you oversleep?

You get up, groggily, and find him at the table on the other side of the wall behind his bed, eating breakfast. You're fascinated—you never expected to get such a glimpse into his life. You knew he ate, of course—he's human, after all—but watching him do it is still strange.

You sit down. “Good morning, my lord.”

He swallows what he's been chewing, and you see his lips twitch in greeting. Kylo gets up and grabs what appears to be a parcel, handing it to you. It turns out to be a heated box. Inside it is your breakfast, brown bread and eggs. How did he know?

“Thank you,” you say softly, and grab the utensils he's laid out on the table at your setting and begin eating. There's a jug of caf on the table and a mug for you set out. What a lovely treat before your big day.

The two of you eat in silence. Truthfully, you'd always wished to spend time talking to Kylo, but he seems distant and uninterested. Every now and again, you look at him, meet his beautiful brown eyes in hopes of gaining some insight into who he is, only to have him avert his gaze and remain silent.

You feel hurt. You'd wanted something a little friendlier. A good morning kiss, a conversation, _anything_.

Your plate is clean and your caf has been drunk. Kylo has finished as well, and is on a datapad, presumably the beginning of his day at work. It must be a challenge to keep up with planning to rule the galaxy.

“Are you ready?” he asks, the first words he's spoken to you all morning.

You're nervous, but resolute. You cannot fail. You _will not_ fail. “Yes, my lord.”

“Get dressed. I sent for your armor while you were sleeping. Then we'll go to the hangar bay.”

We?

“Of course, we. Did you think I'd leave you alone to do this?” His tone is dark.

“I… I'm honored, my lord, to have you accompany me,” you respond pleasantly, if a bit put out.

Kylo gets dressed in front of you; you feel shy, but he's seen everything, so you don't bother covering up. You watch, mystified, as he suits up for battle: pants, shirt, boots, armor, tunic, helmet. You wish he'd leave it behind—his masked face is still unsettling, even now.

A trip to the refresher for hygiene and you're ready to go. Kylo pushes the controls to open the door, and you follow him.

As you come out of Kylo's apartment, everyone walking through the hallway stops dead and stares at you. You sweat uncomfortably and look up at him for reassurance, only to realize he's already walking away. You hurry to follow him.

You board a shuttle, and are introduced to the team you'll be accompanying today. You hesitantly introduce yourself, and overhear some discouraging banter from a couple of troopers in the back.

_“Who is this?”_

_“Ren says she's the one who gets the kill shot.”_

“This is yours,” their captain says, breaking through your thoughts. He hands you your new Z6 riot control baton. “Good luck, newbie.”

You accept it gratefully; it feels powerful in your hands. It's slightly bigger than the ones you trained with, but you'll adjust. You've been practicing for this, you remind yourself. You're ready for this. You were born for this.

Before long, you feel the pressure and turbulence that signifies your descent through the planet's atmosphere. You're still nervous, feeling your hands numbing with anxiety. You can do this, you remind yourself. This defector must be dealt with—and you alone have been granted the honor of sending him straight to hell.

The shuttle lands.

“You follow my orders until we find him. Then we guard the perimeter while you take him out. Understand?” your captain orders.

“Yes, sir,” you respond.

Kylo gives you a hard look, then nods.

_Lord Ren, I won't let you down,_ you vow, and make your way.

The door opens and a ramp descends. Your comrades march out, and you follow.

The first thing you notice is that it's hot, and the sun is mercilessly beating down on you. Sand dunes stretch in every direction, forever. You have no idea where you are or where you're going, but you know one thing: he must be destroyed.

You march until you reach a village. An old woman, the matriarch, you assume, comes out to speak with your captain.

Then you hear blaster fire, and she slumps to the ground.

Well. That's what she gets for harboring a traitor. You clutch your baton in your hands, and pat your hip to make sure you have your blaster.

Your captain and team make quick work of entering every home, searching for the traitor, and killing every man, woman and child in residence. You're standing in the center of the collection of shanty dwellings, constructed of scrap cloth and metal. Scavengers, then—they look like starship components.

Then your captain emerges from one of the dwellings, poking his gun in the back of a man dressed in a Resistance pilot's jacket and plain black clothes just like the ones you wear under your armor.

Now's your chance.

You race up to him, holding your baton. You press the button, and it electrifies.

The man in question has dark hair curled tightly to his head, a muscular build, and a strange look in his eye. Like he's not sure you're going to go through with it.

“You disgusting traitor,” you call out. “Did you really think the First Order—”

“Mae?” The defector's jaw drops.

You pause. Who is Mae? One of the villagers? Surely they're all dead by now. Either way, you're not foolish enough to turn around.

“Mae—it's me, Finn.”

Finn. You don't know a Finn. You only know two people with unusual serial codes: General Hux and Kylo Ren.

“I don't fucking care who you are,” you spit. “You betrayed the First Order. You left us. You killed some of our own. You made a fool of Lord Ren, and you will pay for it with your life.”

The defector gesticulates wildly. “Mae—it's me! MA-3425, right? I'm Finn. FN-2187. We knew each other.”

No.

_No._

You can't—you _can't_ know him. Because if you _do—_

Your whole body goes cold. 

If Ren hears this—if anyone finds out—your life is in danger. Your _future_ is in danger.

“No we didn't—I've never heard of you before in my _life._ ” You advance on him, wielding your baton, as it crackles dangerously. “I would never betray the First Order by keeping company with someone like you.” Your voice is tight with fury.

“You're MA-3425,” he shouts. “Mae. We were friends. We were lovers. Come back to me—”

“No,” you scream. “I don't _know_ you, and even if I did, I would _never_ betray the First Order! A true friend would never ask this of me.”

“Mae, please,” he begs. “We loved each other! I still love you. What happened to you? Why don't you remember me? Is it because of Ren? Did he—”

“Don't you _dare_ speak his name,” you bellow, and jab him with your baton. A shock goes through him, and he flies backward and falls to the ground, howling in pain. 

You run up to him, leveling your weapon inches away from his chest, as you stare him down. You have the high ground. You have the advantage here. You're going to win. 

“Lord Ren gave me everything. He brought me from nothing and gave me everything. _He_ loves me,” you snarl, with menace, and draw your blaster, taking off the safety.

“Mae—please, don't do this, just wait—stop—let me talk to you—” The defector holds his hands out, bracing himself, eyes wide with fear.

For a second, you pause.

Something seems familiar about him—his eyes, his voice, _something_. What could he have to say to you? Does he know something you don't? How did he know your name? 

It doesn't matter. 

You jab him again with your baton and hold him to the ground with it, watching his body convulse with electric shock, then aim your blaster and fire. He cries out, then is silenced. You withdraw your baton, and turn it off.

You take a step backward, close your eyes, inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Then you open them again, and look down, feeling revulsion at the traitor's broken, bleeding corpse. 

The defector is dead.

You've won.

You feel a great weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

Turning away, you find your captain, report back to him, and depart.

Your comrades congratulate you on your flight back to the _Finalizer_ , and you feel like you've finally made it. You've proven yourself, made good on the opportunity that's been given to you. You can't wait to be alone with Kylo, to see his face, to hear what he has to say about your victory.

The shuttle lands back in the hangar bay, and you bid your comrades goodbye, lingering to talk to Kylo. “My—my lord,” you begin, tempted to reach for his arm, but you hold back just in time.

“What?” He turns to face you, tall and menacing, and you shrink back. The sharpness of his tone is a shock to your system. Does he not want to talk to you about your achievement?

“I… do you wish to speak to me about the mission?” you ask meekly.

“It is done.” He stares at you, masked face impassive and cold. “I suggest you get back to your scheduled duties.”

Then he turns and walks away, with heavy steps, without saying goodbye.

You're left open-mouthed, watching him go, unable to stop your tears.

 

You're in the laundry room, sorting through blood-soaked clothes. You find yourself staring into space, forlorn and lost. Why doesn't Ren want to talk to you? You did everything he asked… you followed through, you were devoted, loyal, fearless. You killed the defector, even as he suggested that you knew him… did you know him?

You set down the uniform jacket you're holding, and you bow your head, staring at the pile of clothes in horror. Did… did the others hear the defector's words? Will they believe him? Do they think you're a traitor now? But you've never seen him before in your life—

Never mind, you tell yourself. Your life is an open book. You've never done anything wrong. Besides, Lord Ren knows you—he can vouch for you if anything goes wrong. Which it won't.

You finish the laundry and go to eat dinner.

The moment you get into the cafeteria, everything changes. You'd expected a standing ovation, or some other kind of “well done”, or being lauded as the hero you know you are.

Instead, there is complete silence. You sit down, eating uncomfortably. No one speaks to you. FM-7283 is nowhere to be found.

You're so lonely. Even JA-2917 would be decent company right now, even with her poisonous, traitorous words.

You take a trip to the rec center in hopes of finding FM-7283, but he isn't there, either. Nor is he in the media room—and as you sit down in the back, watching the First Order news reel, you find it strange that the defector's death isn't being reported on or celebrated. Nor are you getting any accolades for your heroism.

But still—Ren must appreciate it, right?

You go home and take a much-needed shower, then sit on your bed in meditation.

_My lord?_ you think, hard, to yourself. _Where are you? Are you not pleased with me?_

Silence.

You go to sleep early, your bed lonely and cold without the body heat of the man you love—who you thought loved you.

Did he love you?

You clutch his undershirt to your chest, breathing in his scent, and cry softly into the fabric. Tomorrow, you think to yourself. You'll ask. You'll find him. He was busy today. You caught him in the middle of his work day. It'll be different.

You wake up the next day and head to your desk; on it, there's a note for you to see ES-2213 in his office. Yes! Now, you're certain, you'll be commended for your work in taking out the defector.

But as you go in, the look on his usually cheerful face is dark and menacing.

“MA-3425. Take a seat. I have something concerning to discuss with you.”

You sit down shakily. “Yes, sir. What is it? Is it something about my mission yesterday?” you add, hoping to spark his memory, to show him you've done well.

“Yes. About that. A few of the men in your company have contacted me. They say the defector spoke to you before you killed him.” He looks you hard in the eye.

“Yes, sir, he did. He lied to me and tried to get me to betray the First Order, but—”

“They say the defector said he knew you,” he cuts you off coldly. “That you knew him.”

“I—no, I didn't. I'd never heard of or seen him before in my life.” You're sweating. _Oh, no._ Is your career over, when it had only just begun?

He looks at you again. “MA-3425. I'm not stupid. The defector called you by your number. There is no way he could have known that about you from your appearance in the same armor worn by everyone else. Now. If you're going to keep lying to me, I'm going to have to advance this investigation. I'd rather not do that. I'd rather help you.”

“I swear it, I don't know him, sir—”

“Really?” Anger flashes in his eyes. “After Ren trusted you with this mission? How did he know you weren't going to run away with this traitor?” He takes a second to compose himself. “I have audio that was captured. I have proof. Tell the truth, or my hands are tied.”

Your heart sinks. What will happen to you? What will happen if you can't somehow convince him that you're telling the truth?

“Please let me speak with Lord Ren,” you beg. “He… he knows the Force. He'll show you that I'm telling the truth.”

He sighs. “I'll inquire about it. But don't hold your breath.” He glares at you, then picks up his comlink. “You have until tomorrow. If you find no proof of your innocence...”

“Then what, sir?” you prompt.

“You know the penalty for treason, MA-3425.” He looks down at his desk, as if in pain. “Dismissed.”

You leave his office, shaken.

Would they really do this? After everything you've accomplished? You have to find Lord Ren. You have to speak with him—

You hurry through your work and then rush over to the sector where you spent the night with him, only to discover that your security clearance has been revoked. Stricken with grief, you then decide to wait outside the wing of offices where you met him before—at least _that_ clearance is still valid.

After two hours he finally emerges, and you leap to your feet, cramped and miserable from having sat out front for so long. “My lord, please, help me,” you begin. “Please, I need to speak with you.”

“What do _you_ have to say to me?” He looks down at you with what you can only imagine is contempt. You wish desperately that he would take the mask off.

“Please, let me come in. I think ES-2213 has some erroneous information about the mission yesterday and I—”

“Get in here, then,” he growls, and you hurry to follow him.

“My lord—it's terrible—there's an investigation, he's talking about treason and I've never seen the defector before in my life, I swear to you—”

Ren takes off his helmet, and the door hisses shut behind you. You look longingly at him, but shrink back when you see his fury. Why is he so angry? Did you not do what he asked?

“He did it again,” Ren grits out. “He tried to get you to leave. To run away. _Again._ ”

“He… what?”

“But you killed him.” It almost sounds like he's laughing. “You did it. Just like I knew you would, my girl. Though I had my doubts.”

Your body lightens with hope. “Does this mean the defector was lying, and that you can speak to ES-2213 for me and—”

“No,” he interrupts. 

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach drop to the floor.

“No. The defector was telling the truth. You _did_ know him. You _were_ lovers. You _are_ a traitor. A useful traitor, but still a traitor.”

“My lord,” you gasp, “I—I'd never—”

Ren's arm reaches out and your throat constricts. You wheeze, and after a few seconds, he releases you. You sink to the floor and begin sobbing.

It was true, then—all of it. 

You knew each other. You loved each other. 

And now he's gone.

But Lord Ren—he's still here, he can still love you—right?

“Please, tell them I'm innocent, my lord,” you beg. “Please don't let them kill me after everything I've done for you!”

“I won't let _them_ kill you, no,” he says softly.

You bow your head in thanks, wiping your eyes on your sleeve.

Then you hear a clash and a whirring sound, feel heat and blinding light at the corner of your vision.

“You're mine. You've always been mine, and you will always be mine. So I'll do it myself. Goodbye, _Mae_.” You look up, see him standing above you, holding his saber, ready to tear you apart. Anger has been replaced with resolve. Your eyes water.

This is it, then.

“I loved you,” you whisper, in complete, horrified betrayal. “You monster.”

You see light flash, feel a burning agony in your side, and everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this journey :3 This whole two part story took a year to write altogether. I hope you enjoyed it :D


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